


Breathing Underwater

by whimsicule



Series: Under the Lights [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Mentions Of Infidelity, Multi, and quite a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicule/pseuds/whimsicule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David Villa joins Barcelona in 2010. Leo falls in love, but David is married. The progress of their relationship starting in 2010 and all the way up to the CL final in 2012.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing Underwater

**Author's Note:**

> This is the main part of my "Under the Lights"-verse. It was written last year, so the entire 2011/12 season is made up. Also posted on my livejournal (cule4life).
> 
> Disclaimer: nothing and nobody belongs to me.

\--------------------

Leo had always thought there was nothing missing in his life; later he would find himself unable to explain how the big hole in his heart had gone unnoticed for so long.

 

*

 

“This wasn’t our year,” Javier tells him. “It wasn’t meant to be.” 

Leo thinks that he should’ve made sure that it was their year, that he should’ve found a way to fool destiny, to trick their fortune. He’s done it before, he’s tricked his body into growing and compared to that, South Africa should’ve been an easy task.

“We’ll grab the cup in Brazil, you’ll see,” says Kun, always the optimist, and smiles the smile that always makes it hard not to smile along; this time though, Leo’s face is cemented. “You’ll be captain and I’ll win the Golden Boot.”

Leo doesn’t reply, because all he can think is that he’s already carrying so much weight that it’s crushing him, that the captain’s band on top of that might be too much and will break his legs.

Gaby calls him when he’s in Rosario, still on holiday; his legs feel restless, he can’t sleep and his head won’t stop spinning.

“You’re still young,” he says, “and you’ve got so much still ahead of you.” He’s trying to cheer him up, but Leo’s not sure he remembers how to smile. “There’s more to life than football.”

Leo’s not sure that there is. 

 

*

 

Leo breathes a sigh of relief when he swaps the stripes of the Albicelestes for blaugrana again.

 

*

 

Things go back to normal. Mostly. Leo’s happy to finally have Javier in Barcelona, knows he’ll give a lot to the team, on the pitch and in the dressing room. At first it’s unusually quiet, the World Champions still away on holiday and Leo enjoys it, mostly because he can collect his thoughts, focus on the season ahead and forget about South Africa. Pep pulls him to the side on his first day, but Leo cuts him off before he can say any comforting words. He doesn’t need any more of that, it’s not like it was sheer misfortune that got them kicked out and Leo knows that better than anyone. He just needs to put it behind him, move on.  
He’s good at that, at moving on, maybe he’s even an expert.

That’s why it’s not a big deal when Ibrahimovic leaves and David Villa arrives alongside Xavi, Andrés and the other successful Spaniards. Leo doesn’t make a big deal out of it, nobody does, they say hello, shake hands and stick to what they know; Leo stretches with Gaby or Javier, David stays close to Xavi. 

David adapts quickly, which doesn’t surprise Leo if he’s honest, he knows that David’s a world class striker and he’s used to the Barcelona midfield, used to their pressuring style. There’s details he has to work on, but who doesn’t, they always have to work on something at Barcelona and Pep doesn’t ever give them any chance to be satisfied with what they’ve already achieved.

But it’s not like they don’t know themselves that it takes hard work to win and even more work to keep winning, to keep wanting. Even the world champions don’t rest on their laurels, there’s not much difference between Xavi and Andrés before and after South Africa. Maybe there’s a small light in their eyes that wasn’t there before, a swing in their step that makes it seem like they got rid of all the weight that Leo still has on his shoulders.

 

*

 

After the long break, Leo’s life becomes a routine again, with football at the beginning and football at the end and nothing in between and that’s how it should be, that’s how Leo wants it to be.

 

*

 

They start the season with a 3-0 win over Santander and collect their first three points, the first three points towards another season that will hopefully be equally successful as the last, hopefully even more and as Leo goes off the pitch he’s determined.  
Determined to make sure not to disappoint again.

His goal in the third minute almost makes him laugh, because with Barcelona it’s so easy, it’s so easy that he thinks somebody high up there must be having a great time screwing with him. Endless weeks in South Africa and three minutes in Barcelona.  
Andrés extends their lead and in the second half, David crowns his debut with a goal.

Leo runs up to him like all the others, it’s a special goal, he knows that, everyone does, the bench applauds, Dani lifts him up and they all encircle him, arms grab and pull and for a split second Leo has David’s face right in front of him, smile lightening it up, eyes sparkling; Leo thinks that he wants to see more of that, which seems random, but he always wants his teammates to score, because it’s good for them, good for Barcelona, so he doesn’t make much more of it. 

But then Hercules happens and it’s not just losing, it’s embarrassing and it reminds Leo so much of Cape Town that it almost crushes him. He hates it, hates himself for freaking out, for keeping his eyes fixed on his feet and for failing to score, again and he doesn’t talk to anyone, the dressing room is deadly quiet and not even Dani dares to disrupt the silence, all being similarly stunned and upset.

Pep tells them it’s just one game, that these things happen, that they lacked concentration but that’s nothing they can’t fix, nothing they can’t do better next time and it’s just their second game. Leo still keeps his eyes on the ground, because he doesn’t trust his vision not to go blurry and it makes him feel pathetic, Pep is right, they’re not always going to win. 

But there’s a difference between losing and losing and Leo knows it well. Sometimes you deserve it and sometimes you don’t and he knows that tonight wasn’t a good game on their part and it should’ve been and that makes losing so much worse, because Leo can’t even tell exactly what went wrong.  
Maybe that’s the reason why everything takes longer than usual, why his movements only have half their usual pace, because he goes over every second of this damn game, probably over-analysing every single pass and run he’s made and he only switches off the spray of his shower when his skin is already red and wrinkled and his fingertips are slightly numb.

The dressing room is almost empty when he enters it, dripping wet and with a towel around his waist; almost empty except for David, who is just shutting his locker and looks up when he hears Leo’s footsteps on the floor. A moment passes between them and Leo thinks that maybe he should say something, because it’s David’s first loss with Barcelona, his first loss at the Camp Nou and maybe David didn’t expect that.

Many think that Barcelona stands for success and nothing else.

Leo decides to stay quiet, he can’t form any sentence in his head at the moment and so he turns to his own locker to get dressed. David brushes past him on his way out, turns around before he exits and it looks like he equally has something on the tip of his tongue that doesn’t want to come out, so in the end he just nods and leaves and Leo sits down, head in his hands, and just stares, stares until he thinks his eyes have collected enough images to fill the pressing void in his head and the numbness has spread from his fingertips through his entire body.

When Leo goes home he sits and stares again, dark figure in his even darker living room, tries to swallow and to forget and wonders why it hurts to much, wonders if losing actually tears away a little part of his soul each time and if he can ever win enough games to get those pieces back again.

 

*

 

Pep always talks a lot about partnership, about trust and its importance and how it’s established and that it’s necessary to get along with each other, to respect each other, to be more than a club; to be a family.

So Leo decides to take these words to his heart and disrupts his usual routine. When he walks past Javier and towards David to partner up with him for stretches, the striker raises an eyebrow at him, surprised perhaps or confused; they’ve barely spoken a word to each other outside of football. But they settle into their exercises quickly and David’s skin is warm underneath his fingers, tanned and smooth, their movements well-coordinated and surprisingly similar and Leo thinks it’s good that David’s here, really good, because he’s a good player and a good person and easy to talk to, even for him.

When they talk it’s barely about something other than football and if Leo’s honest, he probably doesn’t have a lot to say about anything other than football, because it’s what he knows. He doesn’t know about politics or history and he’s not particularly interested in it either, he barely reads anything and only picks up bits of information in the news, most of which he has forgotten the next day.  
David doesn’t seem to mind though and they spend the week leading up to their next match against Atlético with stretching, passing and discussing the difference between La Liga and the Premiere League.

It’s nice, Leo thinks, David’s nice, nicer than he initially thought. He’s got open eyes and a soft voice and a pleasant laugh and he carries his emotions right on his sleeves for everyone to see and Leo’s glad, because he can’ t read people well.

 

*

 

Their training sessions are quieter than other teams’, or so Leo’s been told, he only knows Barcelona, that’s all he has space for in his memory, that’s how it has always been and that’s how Leo wants it to be.

But it’s true nonetheless. They do talk, but not a lot. That doesn’t mean that they’re not communicating with each other though. Sessions go by without a single word being uttered and only the tiki taka of their passing echoing over the pitch and yet by the end of the day, Leo will know exactly how each member of the squad feels; he’ll know that Andrés didn’t sleep much because his daughter has a cold, he’ll know that Xavi is already thinking about the next game and planning every pass and build-up in his head, that Geri is in a bad mood or Dani in a particularly good one.

These days are Leo’s favourites, because he’s better at expressing his feelings with a pass or a shot at goal too. He can perfectly describe every fibre of his being with a simple, curved ball against the back of a net. 

It’s probably the reason why Leo is one of the quieter ones when they have lunch together. And he just generally prefers to listen, he doesn’t have too much to say off the pitch, and Gerard always has a bad joke to tell, Dani always a funny story up his sleeve and Xavi can always give updates on every single league in Europe and probably the rest of the world. 

Leo sits back and listens, feels like he’s part of a group that he belongs to and that belongs to him and when he feels like it, he’ll drop a comment or two, mostly to make Geri stop short.

There’s one day though when he feels out of place, suddenly and unexpectedly, leading up to their match against Atlético Madrid.  
Leo has just sat down next to Pedro, the table full of Spaniards, but it’s not an exception, it’s not like they sit according to nationalities or anything, because that’s just silly, really.  
David, Xavi and Andrés sit across from him, Victor’s there too, he’s never far from Andrés and Leo just wants to dig into his pasta – he’s starving and his body is screaming for carbs – when he notices that the conversation that they’re having revolves around South Africa and immediately, his originally good mood goes down a few notches.

He can’t help it. He wants to feel happy for them, he does feel happy for them, but it doesn’t make all his disappointment disappear; he’ll probably carry it with him for the rest of his life.  
Leo quickly focuses all his attention on the plate in front of him, feels a lump stuck in his throat and suddenly doesn’t feel hungry at all. With one ear he overhears Gerard laughing about teasing Cesc, about picking on Ramos, about the entire team stuffing Xavi’s suitcase with random objects from his hotel room.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t notice”, and his laughter even increases in volume.

Leo looks up and sees Xavi trying to shoot Gerard a glare, but he fails and he can only just hold back a smile. “It’s not like I check my luggage every two minutes.”

“Still”, David joins in and there are fine lines around his eyes that indicate that he smiles and laughs a lot more than people assume. “That suitcase must’ve been bloody heavy. Half of the room’s furniture was in it.”

Xavi folds his arms across his chest, obviously not enjoying being the centre of their amusement for a change. Usually he’s the one mocking others.  
“In my defence, I don’t think any of you would’ve noticed. You could barely walk, all of you. And I’d trusted Iker to keep an eye on it.”

Gerard opens his mouth and laughs and it looks as if he’d be able to swallow his own fist if he wanted to. He snips a piece of cucumber at Xavi, misses, it lands on the next table in front of Puyi, who just shrugs and bemusedly shakes his head; he’s used to it.  
“Never trust a merengue, Xavi. You of all people should know that!”

Xavi takes a turn, picks up some leftover pasta, doesn’t miss and hits Gerard straight in the face. “Shut up. I’d trust Iker with my life after his two saves against Robben.”

That’s when Leo turns his attention back to his food. He feels really out of place, especially since he didn’t even watched the final. Of course he’s told his teammates that he did and he hadn’t been able to resist watching a short replay of it a few days after, but at the moment, he just hadn’t been able to, he’d just wanted to forget.

“Don’t remind me of that”, he hears David reply. “Longest seconds of my life. I think I had a heart attack on the pitch.”

That’s when Leo zones out and focuses all his thought on Atlético and playing with Barcelona again, playing against Kun and Forlán and it’s not going to be easy, for many reasons and he needs to be prepared and he doesn’t notice how the others slowly go quiet around him. He notices eyes on him and knows their David’s even before he looks up and sees that everyone’s left the table already to go continue with practice.

David looks at him and Leo doesn’t know why, doesn’t know if David’s waiting for him to start a conversation. The older one takes a sip of water.

“You shouldn’t let one tournament get you down like that”, he eventually says and Leo’s surprised; surprised that David apparently noticed his slight discomfort, that he seems to be able to read him as well as Leo can read him already. “There’s a right time, a right place and a right team. I know yours will come.”

He gets up and Leo watches him leave, a weird feeling circulating in his chest and he can’t really tell how or why, but after everything that has been said to him about the loss against Germany, about him not scoring, about Argentina generally crashing out of the World Cup; this is the first time he actually believes the words. And they make things better.

 

*

 

When the defender strikes his foot Leo immediately feels the pain and instantly knows it’s not good. He has enough experience with injuries to know when something just hurts or is really injured. And his ankle is burning, swelling, he can barely move his foot in its socket and he presses his hands over his face because it fucking hurts and he can’t believe that this is happening; that he’s out in their third match of the season for God-knows-how-long.  
The medics carry him off the pitch and Pep is there, saying something, but Leo doesn’t understand, all he hears is blood rushing in his ears, boot meeting ball and a distant voice in the back of his mind, telling him to keep breathing.

 

Emili tells him he’s lucky that it’s nothing serious, that he’ll only have to do two weeks of recovery work and will be back to full training sooner rather than later, but Leo considers it far from lucky; if he’d been lucky, he wouldn’t have gotten injured in the first place.

He spends the first day away from training watching the recorded match against Hercules and although they have already discussed it at length during their tactical sessions, Leo wants to make sure to spot every mistake he’s made and he knows he’ll always find something that Pep and Tito have missed. He sees spaces he should’ve run into, angles in his shots he should have changed and generally just a lot of things that probably contributed to their loss.

He’s just re-watching the second half for the third time when his doorbell rings and he’s surprised, because he doesn’t expect anyone. Leo hobbles over to the door on one foot, because he still can’t put any pressure on the other and has to force his jaw to stay up when he sees David on his porch. The striker throws him a lopsided grin.

“Gone insane yet?”

Leo raises his eyebrows, is honestly stunned for a second, but then he can’t help the quiet laugh that escapes his lips and he steps aside to let David in.

“Possibly,” he answers and there’s a twinge in his chest, just a light tug that makes him feel like a little knot has finally been unfastened and his lung is free to function again without any tightness compromising it.

He does, however, feel a bit embarrassed when David walks into the living room and sees the match playing on his flatscreen TV. He turns around to Leo with an amused expression and a creased forehead and Leo notices the slight stubble on his face.

“You’re really that obsessive, huh?” he asks with a light undertone to his voice, face soft and so different from its concentrated look during a match. “And I thought Xavi was the only nutcase.”

Leo has to smile at that and reaches for the remote to pause the game. “Yeah, well… I don’t like to repeat my mistakes.” David looks at him like he’s about to say something, but then changes his mind and Leo hops back over to the couch. “Anything special that you wanted?”

David shakes his head and flops down next to him, close enough that Leo can smell his cologne, or shampoo or whatever, he doesn’t care, it smells nice.  
“Not really, wanted to see how you’re doing, that tackle looked nasty,” he says and turns his head towards Leo. “And I’m also being a bit selfish. The in-laws are visiting and driving me mental.”

Leo can’t really imagine anyone driving David up a wall, but he guesses that in-laws are probably a special case. “And you thought I would grant you asylum?”

“Indeed,” David replies and shows that lopsided grin of his again that tells Leo that he’s in a good mood.

They play FIFA for the rest of the afternoon and David’s not very good, in fact he’s terrible even though Leo lets him play Barcelona. Leo wins no matter if he’s playing Valencia, Getafe or Espanyol, but eventually he takes the controller away from David, because he can’t see Barcelona lose that badly, even if it’s just on FIFA.

They find a replay of a Premier League roundup of last weekend and when Liverpool comes on he can see David squint his eyes slightly.

“He still hasn’t found his form, has he?” he asks and of course David knows who he’s referring to.

“Doesn’t seem like it”, David answer, looking thoughtful, and then he adds, “I don’t think he’s going to stay.”

“Hm”, is Leo’s reaction because he doesn’t really know Torres like David does and it’s not like he cares if he stays at Liverpool or plays somewhere else.  
What Leo cares about is that David doesn’t play for Liverpool, or for Valencia or for Madrid or any other team, but for them, for Barcelona and when he leaves after hours it’s already dark outside and Leo’s almost forgotten about his injury until he takes a careless step that makes his ankle sting.

“I’ll score a goal for you against Sporting,” he promises and turns around to walk towards his car.

And Leo is happy that David plays for Barcelona, because he’s a great asset to the team and they’re going to win again, Hercules is not going to be repeated and when David really scores the following weekend Leo just knows that something special will come from this.  
From him and Barcelona, from David and Barcelona, maybe even from Leo and David.

 

*

 

His ankle heals quickly and Leo is relieved that there are no aftereffects that keep him from playing and he feels so alive when he walks back onto the pitch with the crest right above his heart, where it belongs, where he belongs and it’s just so good to be back, even though he was barely gone, that he almost doesn’t care that they only draw against Mallorca. He scores, he hasn’t forgotten how.

 

*

 

They start a winning streak, they’re absolutely on a roll and the atmosphere in the dressing room is bustling, everyone at practice is motivated and even though it gets colder, winter approaching quickly, Leo feels warm.

He only notices a first chill when the first El Clásico of the season is visible on the horizon and the media starts the usual game, hypes up the fans, but Leo knows better than to let that stuff get to him. To him, Real Madrid is just another opponent and the game is just another to be won. 

But David is new to this and Leo knows that although he’s played against Real before, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – that compares to this type of game, whether they want it or not. There’s a carefully constructed circus of rumours and half-truths and prejudices that has the fans on edge and the players annoyed.  
Winning is a matter of honour and for everyone except the 22 players on the field, it is a matter of history; of the past and the future.

For Leo, it’s more about the present. And presently, he just wants to win and he wants to score and he wants David to score too, because the first Clásico should leave him with good memories.

Leo knows that they’re good, that the team is motivated and well prepared, but he doesn’t expect things to be that easy. With Mourinho now in the coaching seat and considering Madrid’s strong performances in their last matches, Leo prepares himself for a tight and physical encounter. 

It is physical, everyone can see and feel it, but not because it’s a challenging game; Madrid just doesn’t see any other way to defend against their overpowering passing and pressure. 

It’s an incredible feeling when they start the second half, not because they have a deserved lead of two goals, but because their play is so fluid, so absolutely perfect and superior that an odd thought crosses Leo’s mind randomly whilst he’s running across the pitch, grass wet beneath his feet, cold air hitting his face; maybe they can do anything, maybe they can win everything again and again and again and maybe he’s just born to play for Barcelona, just Barcelona and then he slides a pass across and finds David blindly, instinctively feeling his presence and anticipating his run and then David nets the ball and runs across the field, smile splitting his face and he’s pointing at Leo and Leo thinks, maybe David is born to play for Barcelona as well, maybe they’re born to play together.

That thought only cements itself in his mind when he almost mirrors his movements a few minutes later and finds David – or does David find him? – the same way as before and David glides over the grass, screams towards the sky, surrounded by blaugrana and El Cant del Barca and it looks so right to Leo that his breath hitches in his throat and he can’t tell where the pitch stops and the sky starts.

 

*

 

It starts with a kiss. It starts with a stupid, unimportant and unmentionable peck on the lips and if Leo had known then that this tiny foolish gesture would start a landslide, he would’ve just turned his head.

But he doesn’t know, not then, and the dressing room is exploding with noise and erupting with laughter, there’s some awfully loud Brazilian samba music blasting from Dani’s iPod and they’ve just scored a bloody manita against Real Madrid. Leo feels drunk on adrenalin and scoring and winning and on the damn champagne that somebody – probably Piqué – has managed to smuggle in.  
Pep’s noticed, he must have, nothing ever escapes his watch, but tonight he lets them be, lets them have this, lets them enjoy and nothing else. 

Leo can’t remember what he’s laughing at, if he’s even laughing at anything in specific – unlikely – and it doesn’t matter anyway. He sees so many smiling faces, soaks up all their happiness like a sponge, just in case, he never knows when he’ll need it again.  
And then David is one of these faces, he suddenly appears seemingly out of nowhere and is right in front of him, so close that Leo can smell his skin. He frames Leo’s face, fingers sliding through his hair.

“You fucking genius,” he screams, but Leo still hardly understands. His head is buzzing, David’s palms are hot against his jaw, there’s a sparkle in his eyes that makes him feel dizzy.  
When David leans forward Leo thinks he’s going to press their foreheads together, lock their gazes, like on the pitch, like after they score, like they’re so familiar with.  
Their lips clash and it’s only for the shortest of seconds and when David pulls away, Leo can tell he didn’t plan to do this, which doesn’t make it any less – any less –

Leo’s not even sure what it is and what he feels, it’s most of all confusing as hell and David lets go of him, steps back and before things can get awkward, Dani jumps on David’s back, makes him tumble to the side and breaks the lock of their eyes, and at first Leo sighs of relief, because it seems like nobody saw. Then he shakes his head at himself, because what was even there to see? It was just a joke, no reason, no meaning, and there will most certainly be no repetition. 

Things calm down shortly after as exhaustion finally settles in and Leo avoids looking at David, even into his direction, because his lips still tingle; there’s still a slight and indefinable taste on them and it doesn’t go away.

It turns into an omnipresent pressure that Leo still feels when he’s lying in bed later that night, a pressure so real and so vivid that he repeatedly puts his fingers to his lips, because he isn’t sure if David’s are still touching them.

 

*

 

Leo decides to forget about it. He doesn’t stop to ask himself if he actually can, because his lips still feel different, still feel touched; he just decides that it was a silly spur of the moment thing, just some stupid peck that neither of them intended to give.

His knees nevertheless feel a bit week when he steps onto the pitch and into the sun, air fresh and crisp and only a few clouds covering the almost unnatural blue sky, but he goes straight over to David, wants to face whatever it is head on and he is relieved when David smiles, even if a little more tense than usual.

Leo grabs a ball and starts to juggle it on his right foot and somehow it makes him feel more at ease, everything feels easier when he’s playing, touching the firm leather, hearing the familiar sound against his boot. Eventually he plays it to David, who stops it and passes it straight back to him.

“Have you digested your two goals yet?” Leo asks while they repeat the action many times, one touch, one touch, one touch.

David’s smile loosens up a little when he answers. “Sure, and already hungry for more. I’ll get a hat-trick next time.”

And Leo hopes he does, he always wants his teammates to do well, to score as many as they can, because it’s good for the team, good for Barcelona and what’s good for Barcelona makes him happy.

 

*

 

One night after practice they just stay on the pitch with a dozen footballs around their feet. They shoot some penalty kicks and David laughs at Leo’s poor goalkeeping attempts. He doesn’t do much better himself and so they run and pass and spin and circle around each other, leather sliding over wet grass, boots almost slipping on the ground; eyes wide, voices laughing, breathing deep.

 

*

 

“It’ll be Christmas soon,” David says. “Another year gone.”

Leo looks at him. Sun is shining onto his face, casting shadows. “Time always passes quickly during the season.”

“It does. It will be weird not seeing everyone every day.”

Not seeing you, Leo thinks. “Yeah, it will,” he says.

David leans back, profile sharp against the light. “I wonder what we’ll be doing this time next year.”

 

*

 

David doesn’t get a hat-trick, and neither does Leo, but they both score against Osasuna, Real Sociedad and Espanyol and don’t drop a single point until their Christmas break.  
Leo doesn’t need all that time off, he doesn’t want to take such a long break, he wouldn’t mind to continue with their games like they do in the Premiere League and he tells David on their last day at practice. It’s been snowing; the normally green pitch looks like it’s been covered with icing sugar.

“You’re insane,” David says and laughs, pulls at his hat and throws an arm around his neck to squeeze him. “You have to take a break from time to time. You deserve it.”

And maybe Leo does, but he knows he’ll miss playing and practice and the team more than he needs the rest. He knows already that he will miss David too, because he’s become so used to the other’s presence, so used to David reading his thoughts on the pitch and knowing what he wants to do and he doesn’t want this connection interrupted, because it makes him feel warm even though he should actually be bloody freezing. His feet are wet and thanks to Bojan and Geri, his pants are entirely soaked.

And it seems like David is a traitor too, because out of nowhere he produces a handful of snow and before Leo can duck away, it’s smeared right across his face, loud laughter ringing in his ears and David darts off and Leo chases him. The others join in and although they still have half an hour left, Pep lets them be, lets them enjoy the rarity of snow in Spain, even looks like he’s tempted to join in but of course he doesn’t, he’s the Míster, and at least he has to try to set a good example.

Leo only stops running when he catches David. He lunges forward and they fall to the ground like they’ve just scored and he feels someone else’s weight on him too, perhaps Bojan, maybe Dani, he doesn’t care. He’s pressed right up against David and pins his arms down, sees the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, lashes bordered with tiny snowflakes that Leo would like to sweep up and blow into the air and make a wish, pretend they were stardust.

He grins and it feels easy, it feels right, and he grabs a big chunk of snow and lets it hover over David’s red face.

“Oh no, you wouldn’t-“

But Leo cuts him off, wipes his face with the white, thick powder; but he can’t wipe away David’s smile. 

 

*

 

Their usual Christmas gathering before each team-member goes off on their respective holiday is at a Catalan restaurant somewhere in the Gothic Quarter. Leo isn’t sure if he’s been there before, he might have, restaurants belong to the things he tends to forget about as soon as he exits them.  
The club has reserved the entire place for the evening, it’s just a gathering for squad and staff, to share some laughter, some drinks, to bring the family together; the other family.

He sticks to Javier and Gaby for most of the evening, for no specific reason, he just does, they talk about Argentina, because Gaby is going back for the holidays, they talk about their families and what everyone’s up to, they hardly talk about football for a change. Not that Leo doesn’t want to, but he usually doesn’t dictate the topic of a conversation and it seems like Javier and Gaby have really gotten into the Christmas spirit already. Leo’s happy to go along with it, but if he’s totally honest, he’s already thinking about Levante; about Deportivo and Málaga and Arsenal.

He wants the league to be theirs again, he wants the Copa and most of all, he wants the Champions League trophy to return to Barcelona after missing out on it the previous year. 

Leo lets his gaze wander across the packed room, where dinner’s already been cleared away and everyone has a drink in hand and seems deep in conversation. He sees Pep and Tito and Xavi, probably plotting a next tactical stroke of genius, the youngsters are in a corner, heads sticking together, looking at something Leo can’t see and Gerard is totally consumed by his phone, probably twittering, or tweeting, Leo doesn’t know about these things.

He spots David on the other side of the big dining room, talking to Victor and Andrés, maybe about their kids, that’s one thing they have in common apart from football.  
Leo has stopped asking himself why he always looks for the other wherever they are; he thinks it might be a habit imprinted in his head because of all the games they’ve now played together, always looking for each other, always finding each other.

The next second, David looks up and immediately, maybe instinctively, meets his glance and Leo almost chokes on his drink. He coughs as the liquid drips down the wrong canal and Gaby pats his back, asks him if he’s alright and Leo can only nod, only look at his shaking hands and suddenly doesn’t know what the hell is happening to him.  
He dares to look up again and David has resumed his conversation, only listening this time, not talking and Leo knows him well enough now to be able to spot the tension in his shoulder and the slight tremble of his lips. His lips. His – David – 

Leo thinks he might be drunk. He has only had one drink all night, but he’s not used to it, he hardly ever drinks and he knows he’s a lightweight when it comes it alcohol, so it’s likely that the liquor has just gone to his head a little.  
He excuses himself and Javier takes hold of his elbow, looking a little worried.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Leo quickly nods and shrugs off his hand. “Yeah, fine. I just need some air.”

He brushes past a few of his teammates on the way to the side door that leads to a little courtyard that is most likely bustling in the summer, but is now deserted and cleared of furniture and covered in a thin layer of snow that will disappear into nothing once the sun rises again. Leo can see his breath forming little clouds in front of his face that dance around a little before dissolving into nothing and he rubs his hands together that are already starting to become numb thanks to the icy air. 

But at least he feels like the cold is clearing his head a little. That weird feeling is still lingering, only soft though, but there nonetheless. Lips, Leo thinks, pressed against his, pressuring and teasing and he thinks he can suddenly smell David, fucking taste him and he feels dizzy again.

A part of Leo expects David to join him in the dark, dimmed lights from the restaurants barely illuminating the stony yard; they look for each other, they find each other on the pitch and judging by the quiet steps on the tiles that are slowly approaching him from behind, they can do it off it too. That’s as far as any logic goes for him though, because there is no explanation whatsoever as to why his neck is unanticipatedly burning, a stark contrast to the freezing air, and his fingers are tingling, his throat tightens and it feels like he can’t breathe properly anymore. 

He senses David more than he actually sees him and off the pitch, without a football being passed between their feet, without a match to be won, Leo finds himself marginally perturbed by it. He doesn’t quite understand how it can be like that, he has formed partnerships with other strikers before and nothing similar has ever happened, and maybe it’s David, maybe it’s him, maybe it’s the two of them and Barcelona. 

“Are you going back to Argentina for Christmas?” David eventually breaks the rather tense silence and his voice sounds strained, a little husky. 

Leo shakes his head. “No. My family, they’re,” and he has to stop himself there, because his throat is closed up and itchy and his voice weirdly trembles like he’s internally shaking. He coughs awkwardly, thinks that maybe he’s getting ill; maybe it’s the flu or some other bug. “They’re flying over in two days.”

“That’s nice,” David says and Leo nods, because it is.

He misses his family, always and every day, not even a tiny bit less than when they left for the first time all these years ago and he’d stayed behind.

“Are you going home?” Leo asks in return and wonders in the back of his mind why the two of them are standing here, outside, trying to force a conversation when their closer friends are actually inside and it would be much easier, make much more sense, to talk to them instead. 

But maybe Leo’s life doesn’t follow logic anyway.

David nods. “Yeah, Valencia first and then Tuilla. The girls are looking forward to getting spoiled by their grandparents.”

Leo wants to smile at that. He doesn’t know why he can’t; why there’s something clenching his chest like a vice. So he just bites his lower lip and nods stiffly, feels like there’s something left to say he can’t shape into proper words and he finally looks over to David, who is standing closer than he had thought. 

David is wearing black dress pants and his shirt is only half tucked in, crumples up slightly around his waist and he has his sleeves rolled up and two buttons undone. Leo can see goose bumps on his skin, asks himself how they would feel beneath his fingertips before he can realise it. 

David folds his arms and unfolds them again, Leo watches the moving muscles and sinews, and then decides to shove them into his pockets. He’s looking ahead, at some random point in the distance and Leo looks at his profile, the sharp lines of his face, almost perfectly symmetrical and just – just – 

Beautiful.

“David,” escapes his lips, ragged and croaky and Leo thinks he must be gasping for air, he feels like he’s drowning, caught beneath a shimmery surface, completely see-through and yet as hard as stone and he keeps hitting his head against it. Maybe that’s why his head is all blurry. 

He needs to say something, he needs to fucking do something and Leo thinks that he might know what, but then David is looking at him and everything goes black again. Black like the colour of David’s eyes in the dark and like the colour of his hair and his shirt and his damn soulpatch that Leo still remembers the feeling of. 

Leo can’t exactly explain what happens next; he can’t even describe who, when and how. He would never be able to fully recollect the next second.

He only knows that this time, it’s not a peck. 

Leo presses his lips to David’s, or David presses his lips to Leo’s, or maybe they just move together, creating one fluid motion.

Leo’s mind goes blank, he forces his head clear, because it is so full of senses that he fears it might explode if he tries to form any sort of rational thought. It’s so different, so surreal and it feels absolutely otherworldly to Leo; like somebody lifts him up into air and slams him down to the ground at the same time so that his heart is light and heavy, relieved and pressured all the same.

David’s lips are cold and chapped; he tastes of something sweet yet bitter – heavy wine or sparkling champagne – and a minor stubble brushes Leo’s chin as he leans closer, which should actually make him start or be off-putting, but it only sends a shiver down his spine.  
Leo wants it to be weird, wants everything to just feel wrong and hence make him stop, but it doesn’t. It feels painfully right, as if this is only a normal extension of their on-pitch telepathy, a natural conclusion to a process that started in August and has now reached a new level.

Leo’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks – or maybe they’re David’s – and the older striker places a hesitant hand against his jaw, fingers trembling in a quick staccato that probably matches both their heartbeats; matches Leo’s own hands at his sides that he doesn’t dare to lift, scared to do something wrong.

David presses closer, their chests bump together, before slowly pulling away and there’s an indefinable pull right behind Leo’s sternum that draws him to David, that he needs to fight with all his will not to follow, because it suddenly hits him where they are – who they are – what they are doing – 

Leo is in a courtyard where anyone from the restaurant could join him anytime and he is kissing fucking David Villa and by the look on the other’s face, realization has hit him just as hard. 

“Fuck,” he breathes and quickly brings some space between Leo and him. “Fuck.” 

The expression in David’s eyes borders on pure shock and it hurts Leo, somehow, although it’s more than understandable. If he had a mirror he would probably see a similar expression in his face. But he doesn’t have a mirror in front of him, only David who is running a hand over his face, through his hair and is looking at Leo like he has all the answers.

Leo doesn’t. 

“Shit,” David swears again, removing his gaze from him, like the look of Leo is enough to somehow poison his mind. “I,” he starts and is clearly searching for words, searching for anything to say in this situation. “I have to go.”

Leo wants to stop him without knowing why. Maybe because that was the easy thing to do, the easy thing to say, but certainly not right - it’s never right to run away. But he doesn’t, he lets David turn away from him and walk towards the restaurant’s main room and when the door slams shut behind him and he has disappeared, Leo is left with no answers and no explanations, no bloody idea what is happening and why and it leaves him with a dull ache in his chest. 

Leo stays glued to the spot. He has lost all faith in his legs and the cold makes his body go numb, lightens the heavy pressure on his head and his heart and his entire stature and when he re-enters the restaurant after seemingly endless hours, he sees that hardly any time has passed at all. Leo also sees that David is nowhere to be found and maybe that’s a good thing, because all he wants to do is go home. 

Leo grabs his coat and leaves before anyone can stop him, without proper good-byes, which is probably very impolite, but he doesn’t trust his voice, he doesn’t trust his mind to form any other word than David.

Afterwards he is clueless as to how he got home safely, he can’t remember a single second of the drive to his house. Inside, the silence and the emptiness is almost overwhelming, pressing down on him and he feels like he still hasn’t resurfaced. Leo is still floating, surrounded by black, icy water that traps his body and fills his lungs and makes it impossible for him to breathe. 

 

*

 

Leo spends his Christmas holidays in a state of trance. His body works only on instincts and habits. His answers to his family’s questions are the same as always and everyone is so caught up in a festive mood that they don’t notice that he talks less than normal.

His mother, however, notices immediately that something’s different, of course she does, she probably knows him better than anyone. Leo can tell she wants to confront him straight away, but also wants to give him time to come clean about what’s troubling him himself. He doesn’t say anything all Christmas and he stays silent until after New Year, because what is he supposed to tell her?

On the day they fly back to Argentina, she takes him aside and tells him not to worry, that everything will always go the way it’s supposed to go. She also tells him to stop thinking about football all the time.

Leo doesn’t correct her, doesn’t say that football – for the first time in his life – is the farthest thing from his mind right now. He doesn’t tell her that all he’s been thinking about for the past weeks is David; David and his eyes and the way he talks and laughs and how his face lights up after scoring and how his lips taste after he’s had wine. 

 

*

 

Leo would be lying if he’d say that things aren’t awkward when they meet for the first training session of the New Year. Generally, the atmosphere is good, there’s some catching up to do, not much, but enough that is goes unnoticed that Leo and David aren’t talking to each other.

More than that – David blatantly avoids Leo. 

And Leo gets it. He isn’t stupid. He can’t be sure what is going on inside David’s had, but he has a pretty clear picture of his own. Leo can’t say how or why – and maybe there is no answer to that – but he isn’t so naïve to think that what he feels is just their chemistry on the pitch.

It has become far more than that. Now that Leo’s back at training, football is again the beginning of everything and it is the end. But all in between is David, where Leo didn’t even see any space. 

 

*

 

Xavi is the first to notice. Of course, Leo thinks, he should’ve known. Xavi knows Barça, inside and out, he has for years and if something, anything, doesn’t fit, he senses it. And Xavi has known Leo for many years too, as well as David.

“You used to get on better,” he simply states one day when there’s only him and Leo left in the dressing room.

“We did,” Leo answers and sits down. 

“What happened?”

Leo shrugs, looks down and starts tying his shoes. He can’t look Xavi in the eye and lie. “Nothing. Things just change.” And they do, he adds in his thoughts, just not as Leo would like them too.

Xavi lingers, evidently not completely swallowing Leo’s lame explanation and Leo can’t blame him – he’s always been a bad liar. In the end though, Xavi lets him be, for now, because he probably knows better than to pressure him.

 

*

 

They sail past every opponent that faces them; Deportivo, Málaga, Sporting, they even get their revenge on Hercules and it should make Leo happy. He should be happy about leading the table, about progressing in both the Copa del Rey and the Champions League.

But he isn’t. Leo can still celebrate his goals and cheer with his teammates, but off the pitch he seems to have forgotten how to smile, because only on the pitch, David and him are still the same, passing and dribbling and assisting and shooting. And when he feels David’s arms around him, hugging him tightly and screaming into his ears and hot skin and grabbing hands, Leo takes one deep breath after the other to fill his usually constricted chest with as much air as possible. 

On the pitch is the only time when David looks at Leo without hesitation. It’s when David’s eyes are fully and unashamedly focused on him and no one else and it makes Leo’s heart swell and thump painfully hard.  
Leo thinks it’s actually quite sad and very selfish, but he can’t stop scoring, he has to keep scoring to feel David’s arms around him, to feel David looking at him like Leo is the only thing that matters.

They still play together and they still celebrate together, but different from Leo, David’s finishes in front of the goal become more sloppy and he hits the outside of the net more often than the inside. The press starts talking about a drought, ignoring all the other work that David does for the team and Leo blames himself, wants to talk do David but fears that he’d make it worse. 

If David wants to talk, if David needs to talk, he has Xavi. 

 

*

 

Leo starts to dread the showers. Not for the obvious reason. He constantly senses a lack of air in his lungs, is short of breath and the perpetual patter of water makes him feel like he’s drowning.

 

*

 

After their home win against Arsenal, Pep takes him aside during training. He takes advantage of their difference in height and loops his right arm around Leo’s neck, pulls him close as they walk away from the rest of the squad. Leo leans into the embrace and lets Pep squeeze him, more friend and father figure than coach, at least for the moment.

“You don’t seem like yourself lately,” Pep says without beating about the bush. “You don’t seem happy.”

“I’m always happy when I play,” answers Leo, because it’s the only truth he can give his coach. He hasn’t quite figured out all the other things himself.

Pep sighs. “I know, Leo. But I want you to be happy off the pitch as well. You need a balance somewhere.”

Leo stops and stares at his feet. He thinks about what Gaby had told him all those months ago after the World Cup; that football wasn’t everything. He thinks about his mother’s words. About David’s. 

“I’m still performing okay, though, right?” he says nevertheless. “I’m fine.”

Pep releases his neck and leaves a steady hand on his shoulder. “You’re performing more than okay,” he says fondly. “That’s never been a problem. But I want to make sure it doesn’t become one. You’re not a machine, Leo. You need to give yourself a break.”

Leo wants to say that he’ll never need a break from football, but he knows that’s not what Pep means. And his coach doesn’t give him the chance to react in his usual way. 

“Listen. I don’t want to enjoin anything on you. I just want you to think about what I said. And,” his eyes glance over to where the team is practising their passing, “maybe talk to David too. Starting now. Pair up for the drills.”

With that, he wonders off to join Tito. Leo can only stare after him, a sinking feeling in his stomach that Pep can see through everything and everyone, including him. He wonders if he’s been obvious, because that could turn into a problem if he isn’t careful, wonders if others have noticed something too or if he’s just being paranoid. And he probably is, it’s very likely that even Pep has just been referring to their supposed friendship that is basically non-existent anymore.

He doesn’t know though. One can never be sure with Pep. 

Leo trots over to where David is standing, Xavi and Andrés glued to his side as usual. They’re talking about something, but Leo doesn’t understand one word. Blood is rushing through his veins and he can hear his own heartbeat pound loudly in his ears, increasing in pace the closer he gets to the Spanish trio.

He fumbles with the end of his jacket’s zipper as he quietly clears his throat and waits for the others to notice him. When they do, Xavi and Andrés give him a smile – David’s face remains as hard as stone. 

“Hey,” Leo says without recognizing his own voice, but that’s as far as he can go. His head feels empty, or rather, like it’s stuffed with wadding that presses against the back of his eyes and gives him a dull headache. “Ehm… Pep said-“

“Drills, right?” Xavi rescues him and Leo inwardly breathes a sigh of relief. “Come on, Andrés. Hurdles first.”

And then they’re off and Leo is face to face with David, who is still looking at him like – Leo doesn’t even know if there’s anything to describe the expression in the other striker’s face. 

“David, I-,” Leo starts again, like he’s the one having to explain something when he knows exactly that he can’t. He can’t explain what he’s feeling and why he’s feeling that way and he can’t explain away their kiss. And it’s not his bloody fault that Pep is so damn perceptive. 

“It’s fine,” David says. It’s not. He stiffly brushes past Leo and their fingers touch and even though it’s unintended and brief, it sends a shiver down Leo’s spine and his legs don’t feel like part of his body when he follows David to a little forest of cones. 

They wait until the coaches give them instructions and when David places his hands on Leo’s hips, warm and solid, fingers digging into his skin as his shirt slides up a little, Leo has to hold his breath. He starts running, not knowing if it’s away from something or towards.

 

*

 

Bojan comes over unannounced one Sunday they’ve got off and Leo doesn’t question it. They used to hang out more; he isn’t sure why or when they grew apart, maybe with David’s arrival, maybe even long before that. But Bojan is fun to be around, it’s relaxed and easy.

They play FIFA and have Pizza for lunch and although it feels normal, Leo can tell that Bojan’s got something on his mind. He’s not quiet per se, but he’s quieter than usual, doesn’t tell the normal jokes or makes fun of Gerard for his latest tweet. 

Some meaningless comedy is blasting from Leo’s TV and although Bojan has his eyes glued to the screen, Leo can tell he’s not really watching. He isn’t either, mind wandering off to David like always when he’s not playing football. Leo thinks he can still feel his hands; see his touch on his skin, a constant looming presence that fills his lungs like water. 

“Blanca wants to move in together,” Bojan suddenly breaks the silence. He doesn’t move a muscle, just stares ahead, images from the TV passing through him like ghosts.

Leo looks over. “And?”

Bojan shrugs and sinks back into the couch. “I don’t know. I mean,” he takes a deep breath, “I’m just not sure, you know? We’ve been together for a while now. But living together… That just seems like a big step.”

“It probably is,” Leo says, but he can’t really say anything else, because he doesn’t know. “I’d like to give you advice, but I don’t think I’m the right one for that.”

Bojan meets his eyes. “I think you are. You’re smart, Leo. And dear God, think about telling Geri… No, thank you.”

Leo leans back too and put the TV on mute, because the excited talking in the background is irritating him. “I don’t think anyone should tell you anything. It’s about what you want to do. You decide.”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“Well,” Leo shrugs. “Then maybe that’s the reason why you came here.”

They look at each other for a while before Bojan turns his head back towards the screen, where a couple is silently screaming at each other in the middle of a street.

“Perhaps,” Bojan says eventually. “But it would be different from now, wouldn’t it? I mean, can you even be sure you love someone if you haven’t lived with that person and know her inside out?”

Leo thinks, maybe. He thinks, possibly. He doesn’t say it though. Instead he replies, “You’ll have to do it to find out, won’t you?”

 

*

 

Leo wouldn’t say he’s in love. He is generally very hesitant with labelling feelings. He thinks that someone might have once found the perfect descriptions for his own range of emotions, but that doesn’t mean they also apply to him. Of course he loves his family, more than anything, he’s had girlfriends before that he’d liked and cared for.

What he feels for David eclipses everything he’s ever known and there are no words to describe it.

 

*

 

“They want us to go insane, don’t they?”

Leo turns to see Gerard hovering close, voice low, because their opponents, all clad in spotless white, are starting to line up next to them, for the forth time in three weeks. It’s probably also four times to many.

“I think I’m already insane anyway,” Leo answers dryly and watches the flashing lights partially illuminating the rather dark corridor that leads to the pitch.

Gerard laughs, probably thinks Leo meant it as a joke, but Leo is actually dead serious. Insanity would at least partially explain his feelings and the past months in general. It would explain the first kiss and the second, much too vivid dreams, the amount of Leo’s goals and even the irony in having to stomach four Clásicos in less than a month. 

“You are,” Gerard says and puts an arm around him, which makes their difference in stature even more apparent. There used to be a time, long ago, when Leo had been jealous of his friend’s height. “Maybe not insane, but you’re clearly not normal.”

He says it fondly, with humour, obviously trying to lift the tension that they all feel. But the difference between him and Gerard is, that Leo only feels tense because he can’t wait. He can’t wait to score and see David running up to him with wide arms.

In the end, it’s Pedro who scores and who gets all of David’s affection and Leo can’t help the pang of jealousy, before he realizes that it’s completely silly and it’s washed away by sheer relief.

They’re going to Wembley.

 

*

 

Usually Leo is the only one who secretly stays behind after their evening training sessions. He likes to practice some dribblings in silence, in the dark. Sometimes he just sits on the grass and juggles a ball with his feet. Leo doesn’t really need that extra time to improve, Pep makes sure that their training is as intense and beneficial as possible. Leo just wants to spend as little time as possible at home.

His routine is thrown out of balance the night before they fly to London. When Leo re-enters the training field after waiting for everyone to leave their dressing room, he is greeted by the hollow thud of a football hitting the post.

He sees David at the penalty spot, wearing dark jeans and a t-shirt and Leo decides to jump over his own shadow, to talk to him, although he doesn’t know what to say. Leo shoves his hands in his pockets and starts to walk over, knowing that David’s noticed his presence from the first moment he joined him on the field, but the older striker doesn’t turn to face him, keeps his eyes fixed on the goal in front of him, forehead crinkled in thought.

Leo leaves a few metres between them and looks to the ground where a few footballs are bordering the grass, leather shining in the mild glow of the floodlights and he doesn’t know what to say. Or rather, he does, just not with words, so he touches one of the balls with the tip of his right shoe, just lightly, but it’s enough for it to land in front of David’s feet.

David lowers his head slowly, fixes his eyes to the ball and Leo knows instantly that David gets it, that David understands as he gives it a nudge and then volleys it into the back of the net with a beautiful curler. 

The ball comes to the ground with a quiet thud that nevertheless echoes across the training pitch. 

Finally, David turns his head and their eyes lock.

“This will be the first time I play in a Champions League final,” he says.

“It’s like any other game,” Leo replies and shrugs. “Just with a bit of confetti at the end.”

David lets out a short and dry laugh. “Easy for you to say. Third time, isn’t it?”

Leo nods. “Wasn’t on the pitch for the first though,” because for him, that’s a big difference. “You played other important finals, though,” he continues and takes a few steps towards David. “Compared to them, this should almost be like a walk in the park.”

David pulls his eyebrows together, holds his gaze for a bit longer, then turns his eyes towards the goal again.

“I guess. It’s just,” and he takes a deep breath, runs a hand through his hair that isn’t gelled like usual. It looks slightly messy, soft. “It was a steady process with Spain, you know. Here, it’s different. The last months feel like a blur and I-,” he pauses again, looks up and then down again, then over to Leo who feels his breath hitch in his through. “Everything is happening so fast and I can’t control it.”

With that, David lets out a frustrated sigh and drops down to the ground, pulls up his knees and rests his arms on them. Leo walks closer again and sits down too, reaches for a football and enjoys the feeling of it beneath his fingertips. He gets what David means and he understands; understands that David means more than just football and Barcelona.

“I’m sorry,” Leo says after a moment of hesitation, because he knows that he is, even though unintentionally, a part of the problem.

“I know,” David answers and immediately adds, “Me too.” He stretches his legs and leans back a little, propping his upper body with his arms. 

There’s a long pause, but unlike all the other times over the last few months, it’s comfortable, not forced, each of them seemingly lost in their own thoughts and it’s Leo who breaks the silence eventually.

“Are you sorry for what happened too?”

David hesitates, but Leo’s sure he knows exactly what he’s talking about. “I don’t know. Are you?”

“No.” Leo doesn’t think he’s ever been so sure about anything that doesn’t relate to football. “No, I’m not. I don’t understand it. But I’m not sorry.” 

David is motionless, frozen to the spot or just completely shocked, but Leo can’t stop there. Now that they’re here, together, finally after all this time of not talking and not looking at each other, he can’t hold it in any longer.

“I’m not sorry,” he repeats. “And I’ve tried to ignore it, to forget about it and it’s not working. I don’t think I can.” 

He reaches over, slowly but steadily and his fingertips brush the back of David’s hand. David’s eyes meet Leo’s almost pleadingly, like he wants to pull back but doesn’t find the strength and wants Leo to do that for him. But Leo doesn’t comply. He intertwines his fingers with David’s and feels the other finally return the touch.

Leo breathes. “I don’t think I want to,” and he feels David squeeze his hand tightly, so much that it almost hurts but Leo doesn’t mind. He wants David to never let go again.

 

*

 

Manchester United doesn’t stand a chance. Once Leo steps onto the pitch in Wembley, everything falls into place, not even Rooney’s equalizer can throw them off balance. He scores and David scores and they win and it’s perfect. 

 

*

 

Just that it’s not. 

Reality hits Leo once they’re back in Barcelona, back at the Camp Nou, and it hits him hard, knocks all the air out of his lung. 

Bright lights are flashing all around them, multiplied by the polished surfaces of their trophies and Leo can hear the crowd cheering and singing. Pep is giving a short speech, like always, but Leo doesn’t pay attention to him and he doesn’t pay attention to whatever it is that Dani is saying into his ear.

His eyes are firmly fixed on David and on his smile that seems so bright that it makes everything else look pale in comparison. He sees nothing and no one but David; David, who is holding both his daughters in his arms.

Leo feels a sickening pressure growing in the pit of his stomach. He’s always known that wanting David’s attention, craving his affection and touch is selfish and wrong and he shouldn’t – he just shouldn’t. Now he realizes exactly how wrong his feelings really are. 

Football might be what Leo loves most in the world, but for David there are two little beings he loves infinitely more. And Leo has no right to interfere. 

He lets the tightness in his core expand and grow as lights continue to flash before his eyes, blurring his vision, blurring everyone’s contours and only David stays clear and sharp against an obscure background, like a drop of black ink on a sheet of paper. At some point, Leo sits down on the ground and digs his hands into the grass, holds on because he thinks he might be sinking.

When fingers brush his, Leo doesn’t have to turn his head to know it’s David. The touch is like a whisper, hesitant and tentative. It still manages to ignite spark-like jolts that curse through his entire body and circulate his heart and make it swell and ache. And it’s supposed to be good, he’s supposed to feel good, because it’s David who has sat down next to him, who is touching him. 

Leo takes David’s hand, holds it tight and his eyes are burning, watering up and he has to swallow a few times, tears now filling his lung instead and creating a lump in his throat that is impossible to gulp down.

The kids are running in front of them, screaming with laughter and slaloming around their teammates’ legs and David’s daughters are there too, holding each other’s hands like Leo is holding David’s and he can’t – he just – 

Leo takes a ragged breath. “We can’t do this, can we?” His thumb brushes over David’s skin and he doesn’t want to let go, he really doesn’t, but he knows that he has to.

David returns the gesture, their fingers entangle and Leo tries to imprint every detail into his mind, because he fears that this is as far as they can go, as far as they will ever go. 

“No. We can’t.”

 

*

 

It feels surprisingly good to be back in Argentina, back with the National Team. Leo feels relieved because he isn’t confronted with David every day, thinks maybe he is a coward, maybe he is running away a bit, but he doesn’t care, not now. He wants to focus on the Copa. He wants to win it. There is no space for David in Argentina.

It’s great to see Kun again too. They never find enough time to meet during the season and only ever see each other when Barcelona plays Atlético. Nevertheless, Kun is one of his oldest and closest friends and he is like chicken soup for Leo’s soul, makes him laugh and most of all forget and Kun just knows him inside out.

Kun takes one look at him, eyes dark and smile bright and Leo feels like he’s peeling away the layers.

“You’ve changed again”, Kun says and shakes his head, more to himself than to Leo. “Every time I see you off the pitch, there’s something different. You better still play the way you usually do.”

And Leo does, because football is the one constant in his life and he hopes it always will be and he is relieved to find that Kun hasn’t changed either, just like Pipita. They’re all determined and ready to take on anyone who steps in their way and Leo thinks that maybe, hopefully, they can make their dream come true.

 

*

 

The dream turns into a nightmare. 

 

*

 

Leo can’t believe it’s happening again, not as thrashing and destructive as the previous summer, but it happens again; again they can’t reach past the quarterfinals. It’s only one stupid penalty kick, only one frustrating miss and for a second, Leo hates Carlos, he hates him for missing, before he remembers that it’s his fault that they even found themselves in this position. 

Leo should have scored in this game and he should have scored in the ones before and yet he didn’t. Disappointment and anger take hold of his body and he doesn’t let anyone talk to him, not even Kun or Javier. 

When he shuts the door to his room behind him, Leo leans his back against it and slides down to the floor, physical and mental exhaustion taking over and he thinks he could fall asleep right on the spot. He can’t find the energy or the motivation to move for what feels like hours and he can see the black sky though the windows, dark and empty and too fucking wide, like the ocean at night and Leo wants to step out and drown in its endlessness. Just drown or sleep, because he can’t escape this stupid curse.

Maybe he is being punished for something. Perhaps for feeling happier, feeling lighter when he wears blaugrana; for wanting David on the field with him instead of Ángel or Pipita or Carlos or Kun. 

Leo isn’t sure if he does fall asleep on the floor, but he’s definitely woken from a trance when his phone rings loudly in his pocket. He ignores it for a while, but whoever is on the other end seems persistent and isn’t willing to give up, so Leo just lifts it to his ear.

At first, there’s silence. Then, “Hey. It’s me.”

Leo feels like he’s been punched in the stomach, hard, and he instantly snaps back into reality, breath hitching in his throat, head spinning. 

David clears his throat. “I just – I just wanted to hear how you’re doing. I watched the game.”

Leo doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to fucking say because this feels like it isn’t happening and maybe he is indeed asleep and just dreaming. But the phone is cold and solid in his hands and David’s voice in his ears is too vivid to be a part of his imagination. And it feels so good, it feels too good and Leo knows that it shouldn’t. That he shouldn’t. 

“I,” he starts and doesn’t know what to say. No, he does, but he can’t say it. Leo can’t tell David how much he misses him, because he knows it isn’t fair on either of them. They agreed on something and he has to accept that. “You shouldn’t have called,” Leo says instead. “I can’t-“ 

“I know,” David interrupts him quietly and Leo wonders absentmindedly if David is at home and what time it is in Spain. “I managed to stay away from the phone the last three times. I watched. And now I just couldn’t.” He takes another deep breath and Leo feels a familiar burn behind his eyelids. “Listen Leo. You’re not to blame. Not for anything. You know that, right? It’s not your fault.”

Leo’s out of air and he feels a first, hot tear slide down his cheek. His hand shoots up and he wipes it away almost hysterically, as if David could see him.

“But it is,” he says and his voice breaks towards the end. “It is.”

“That’s bullshit, Leo. Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” Leo replies and has to fight hard to keep breathing. He thinks he might be drowning in swallowed tears again. “I didn’t play well, I couldn’t play well, because they aren’t you, none of them and I couldn’t see them, I couldn’t fucking see anything and you weren’t there and I-,” he lets out a sob before he can stop himself and he feels fucking pathetic, but he can’t take it back. “I miss you.”

David is quiet and Leo thinks he’s actually done it now. He’s managed to scare David off entirely and he resents himself even more, because he just didn’t keep his thoughts to himself, he just didn’t manage to shut up. 

It’s silent for an agonizingly long amount of time and when Leo hears David speak again, it’s like sunlight breaking through the shimmering surface, illuminating the dark water he’s been floating in for the past weeks without him. 

“I miss you too.”

Leo lets out a long breath that’s been stuck in his throat for what seems like forever, maybe since the last time they saw each other and doesn’t know how he’s going to do it; how he’s going to be near David again, knowing that he can’t – that they shouldn’t – 

“I thought we agreed that –“ but Leo can’t finish. He has to focus hard to keep his intake of air calm and even and to stop those bloody tears from falling. He’s not a child anymore; he should be able to control himself better.

David gets it anyway. “I know,” he says. “Saying something is always a lot easier than actually doing it.”

Leo doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know what he wants to allow himself to think about that. “I’m sorry. I promise, I’m trying, I really am, but –, “ he lets his head lean against the door and looks up to the sealing, salty water blurring his view. “I’m trying to get out of this mess and I can’t and I am sorry. I will figure things out. I will.”

“Leo, I-“

He hangs up before David can finish. And maybe he is a coward and he is running away, but he can’t help but feel like he’s taking something from David that is not up for grabs. Leo knows he can’t take a step back anymore, he’s gone way too far for that, but at least he can try and stay where he is. Because him and David and him and David and Barcelona – he can’t. 

The sun is starting to rise when Leo can finally feel his body again.

 

*

 

After a holiday that is far too long for Leo’s liking, he returns to Barcelona – for the first time with mixed feelings.

 

*

 

Nobody in the team tells him that they’re sorry and Leo is glad that they know that’s the last thing he wants to hear. Nevertheless, they all hug him longer than normally and he gets so many pats on his back that his shoulder feels a bit numb when he steps out onto the pitch.

The grass feels familiar beneath his feet, like he’s only been gone a day instead of a few months. It’s almost like before, hardly anything has changed; except Bojan is gone and so are Gaby and Jeffrén, but Thiago is there now and Alexis and Pep is quite positive that Cesc will join them eventually too. 

Leo should probably care more than he does, any maybe he will in the end, but at the moment he is just glad to be playing again; he’s glad to see David again.  
They don’t get a chance to talk all morning though. Pep puts Leo in a group with Dani, Javier and Alexis and David is working with Xavi, Thiago and Pedro. The first few hours pass quickly and Leo is focused on his footwork and his passing and his legs are getting tired already.

Pep wants them to take it easy, he doesn’t want to rush things. Later when everyone’s sitting down in the sun and gulping down some much-needed water, Pep says not to worry about the Super Copa. That they’re training for the entire season and not for this one trophy.

“You know I believe you can do anything,” he says. “But it’s not a tragedy if you can’t. I know you’ll give everything you’ve got, but keep in mind that this early in the season, nobody is at a hundred per cent yet.”

When the break is over and everyone gets up to continue with some stretches, Leo stays close to David. He can’t help it. Not seeing the other striker for so long draws Leo to him like a moth towards the light. He takes David’s foot and pushes his leg towards his chest and David’s face remains motionless and neutral. Leo takes a quick look around and sees that everyone else is equally occupied with exercising.

Leo clears his throat. “David?” He looks at him. “We’re okay, right?” Because Leo’s not sure that they are. David seems distant again, like he’s angry with Leo and doesn’t want to show it. 

Something flashes in David’s eyes, but it’s just for a second and then they’re clouded over again. “Yeah,” he answers and his voice is flat and neutral like his expression. “Yeah, we’re cool.”

But somehow Leo gets the feeling that they’re not. 

 

*

 

Leo knows that Pep thinks they can’t match Real Madrid this time. Not yet. It doesn’t bother him, not really, Pep is right by saying that physically, Madrid is stronger. The Blancos have prepared for these two matches, it is their chance to get revenge for last season or something, but Leo can’t look into their heads so he doesn’t want to make assumptions. 

Leo also knows that matches aren’t only won with physical strength and he is determined to make up for his terrible Copa; determined to prove the critics wrong and also to give everything he has for Barça. Everything and more. 

He steps out onto the pitch, surrounded by a sea of white and he immediately senses David’s presence and it calms him down. And he needs to be calm, because as soon as the whistle blows, he can feel Madrid’s pressure. And of course Pep was right. The Blancos are stronger and they are faster and they force their way through Barcelona’s midfield and their defence and it’s thanks to Víctor that their arch-rivals are only up by one goal after twenty-five minutes.

Leo is already starting to feel the strain on his body. His body isn’t used to this sort of intensity yet and there’s a pounding headache forming between his temples that presses forward against his forehead. But Leo clenches his teeth together and shuts the screams of his body up with moving forward.

He steals the ball somewhere in midfield and moves past two players, sees that Andrés has cleverly drawn a few defenders towards him and that David is moving down the side. The pass is perfect and there’s a wave of adrenalin washing over Leo, because he can find David and David finds him and despite everything, they’re still the same. 

David sends the ball past Casillas with the most perfect curl Leo has ever seen in his life and they’re level with Madrid and Leo runs towards him, lifts him up and presses his body to David’s, feels their hearts pound in perfect symmetry.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long and Madrid is pressuring them again and Leo’s vision goes blurry every few minutes. He doesn’t feel good, not good at all, but to hell with him if he allows himself to get subbed by Pep. Leo struggles, but he pushes on, pushes closer and closer to the edge.

The ball falls to his feet just before halftime. He pushes Khedira to the side and notices Pepe slipping, eyes never leaving the ball for one second and his head is pounding and his heart is hammering in his chest, but suddenly he’s one on one with Casillas. He slides the ball past him with his left foot.

 

Leo is the first down the tunnel, headache now nearly too much to take. He can barely keep his eyes open, pain pressuring his lids and his lung and his entire body. When he reaches their changing room he immediately darts into the toilets and locks himself into a cubicle, legs finally giving in and knees hitting the cold tiles. Bile rises in his throat and he just manages to lean forward when his insides clench.

Leo can feel the acid burning in his mouth and gullet as he throws up all the liquid he’s had in the hours prior to the match. When his stomach has nothing left to give, Leo flushes with numb arms and sinks back against the walls of the cubicle, cold floor soothing against his lower body. 

It’s quite disgusting, but most of all very relieving. His body has released all the built-up tension and pressure and Leo feels incredibly light. Maybe he’s even floating, he doesn’t know, he can’t be sure. 

Leo zones out for a bit and probably hears the steady pounding against the door much too late. His left arm is heavy when he reaches for the lock and less than a second later, David is kneeling down, legs on either side of Leo’s and his cool hands coming up to frame his face.

“Fuck,” he breathes out and brushes his fingers over Leo’s forehead. “Fuck, Leo.”

Leo wants to shrug it off, but he can’t find the strength to lift his shoulders. “I’m fine,” he says in a croaky voice that doesn’t sound like his in the slightest. “I’m okay now.”

“The fuck you’re okay,” is David’s almost angry reply and Leo wonders why he’s mad at him. He provided David with an assist, he scored himself, and they should all be happy and relieved. “Xavi, get the fuck in here! And where the hell is Emili?” 

“I don’t need Emili, I’m fine, I just-“

“Shut up,” David cuts him off. “You’re not fine.”

And suddenly, Xavi is there too, hovering over him and taking his arm, putting it across his shoulders. “Come on, Leo. Let’s get you up.”

Leo protests again. “It’s okay, really. I just need a few minutes, I’m-“

“If you say fine one more time, I will fucking punch you,” David interrupts him again as both he and Xavi pull Leo up until he’s standing on very wobbly legs. 

“Guaje,” Xavi says warningly. “You know how he is. And he’s just exhausted himself.”

David moves and pulls him out of the cubicle, Xavi supporting his other side. “I know how he is and he needs to stop being so fucking stubborn.”

Leo looks at them. “I’m still here, you know. I haven’t passed out.”

“Not yet,” is David’s comment and then Emili is there and Pep too and Leo just wants them all to go away, because he’s fine, he’s really feeling better now and the last thing that he needs, the last thing they need, is for him to get benched. He wants to play, because playing makes everything better.

They sit him down on a bench and everyone’s eyes are on him as Emili gives him a quick check-up under Pep’s watchful eyes. David’s arm never lets go of his waist.  
Emili gives him some sweet-tasting Lucozade that Leo gulps down quickly although his throat hurts as hell. He only has another ten minutes to get back on his feet.

Pep leans down and looks at him firmly. “Pedro is ready to come on for you. I don’t want you to break down during the second half.”

Leo shakes his head and knows David is rolling his eyes without even looking at him.

“I’m better, Pep. I can do the second half. I need to play.”

“Leo, I’m really not comfortable with putting you back out there, when-“

It’s probably rude to interrupt his coach, but right now, Leo doesn’t care. “Trust me, Pep. I can play. I want to play.”

Pep’s eyes stay on him for a long time, then he shares a quick look with Emili who says, “Dehydration. As long as you keep your intake of liquid up during the match, you should be alright.”

Leo almost breathes a sigh of relief. He can’t sit on the bench and watch the second forty-five minutes from the sideline. He’d go insane. 

“Fine,” Pep says eventually, but his wrinkled forehead shows his concern. “But if you even feel slightly dizzy, you tell me and you will come off.”

 

Leo feels much better when the game proceeds and although Madrid manages to score an equalizer, a draw at the Bernabéu is a pretty good result considering they’ve only been training for a week and their squad is thinned down by injuries.

He is tired as hell as he sinks into his seat on the bus and Leo leans the side of his face against the cold window. In the reflection he can see that David sits down next to him and Leo’s too exhausted to be surprised. Without thinking, he leans towards the other side and rests his head on David’s shoulder. David adjusts a little so that their bodies mould together perfectly. 

The silence is finally comfortable again and Leo feels at peace and relaxed and David is warm and familiar and his head is too heavy to produce any proper thoughts. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” David eventually whispers when almost everyone on the bus is either asleep or listening to music. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Sorry,” is all Leo can say right now. His jaw is as heavy as his head.

“You better be,” David replies. “You know how many athletes have a heart-attack on the pitch? So don’t shrug everything off like it’s nothing.” He grabs Leo’s hand and holds it tight. “I can’t lose you, okay? Not like that.”

“Okay,” Leo says and finally closes his eyes, slowly drifting off, feeling David’s skin sliding against his. “Okay.”

 

*

 

Maybe it’s the Camp Nou, maybe it’s the culés or Cesc’s return or maybe it’s all of it combined. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter, because they win. It’s Leo’s last-minute volley that puts them one ahead and 5-4 on aggregate and he feels ecstatic. They are still nowhere near reaching their full potential and Leo knows that he’s still quite a few notches off his best, but he still scored two and assisted one and they’ve won and that’s all that’s important right now. 

They start celebrating on the pitch Gerard lifts him up and Cesc is there too and they’re back together and it’s brilliant and Leo can’t stop smiling, can’t stop looking for David wherever he goes. And David looks so damn happy too that it makes everything even better. 

The team celebrates for hours at the Camp Nou and in the dressing room and almost everyone eventually ends up at Gerard’s place. Leo would normally be one to go home early, but David stays and so he does too. He can’t tell what it is they’re actually doing besides singing and shouting and laughing and drinking. Pep would probably not be very happy about their lack of discipline.

Leo has no idea what time it is when the music stops, but Cesc is passed out on the couch and Xavi and Andreu are basically dragging Thiago towards the latter’s car, followed by the dangerously swaying pair of Adriano and Alexis. Dani still looks like he could go on for another twenty-four hours, but that’s nothing new.

He is suddenly distracted by the familiar weight on an arm around his shoulders. David is leaning heavily on him, but Leo can tell that he isn’t nearly as drunk as Thiago or passed-out Cesc. 

“You still capable of driving?” David asks close to his ear and Leo shivers.

He is sobering up already, his last drink was hours ago and he didn’t have that much to begin with, just in case.

“I guess so,” Leo answers. 

“Great. Give me a ride?”

Leo’s throat goes dry and so he only nods, isn’t sure what to think, if he’s even able to think anything at the moment as he walks to his car that’s parked outside, David’s arms still draped over his shoulders. It’s pitch black, but most likely already early morning and pleasantly warm. 

He sits down behind the steering wheel and waits until David slides into the passenger seat and when Leo starts the engine, something in the atmosphere shifts. Heat is creeping up his neck and he feels David’s eyes on him. Leo has to concentrate to stay focused and he wonders if he even remembers where David lives, but suddenly David takes his hand, or Leo takes his and he’s sure he’s not driving David home.

 

Leo can’t be sure if this was intentional or not and he non-verbally argues with himself all the way to his place, because this can’t really be happening, they can’t actually do anything and these thoughts continue even as Leo locks the car and David trails him to his front door, that is quickly opened and they slide inside, sun already creeping up at the horizon.

His inner debate comes to an abrupt halt when the door falls shut and he turns around and is face to face with David, dark eyes flickering and burning and probably consuming him alive, from head to toe. For a moment, they stand in utter silence, completely motionless and Leo thinks he can hear both of their hearts beating.

Then it’s as if someone moves a switch. They meet in the middle, lips clashing clumsily at first before David pushes him back and takes control and Leo lets him. His back collides with the wall, picture frames clattering quietly as Leo desperately tries to find something to hold on to. He settles for the collar of David’s shirt and pulls him closer, just fucking closer and his fingertips brush over soft skin as David’s tongue slides into his mouth and – 

Their breaths mingle and it’s so fucking perfect that it hurts and Leo thinks someone might be opening his ribcage with a crowbar to take out his heart, because it’s beating so violently against his ribs. 

Leo barely has time to process the surreality of it all; that he is in his house, with David, and they’re frantically kissing like starved teenagers. He doesn’t even want to think about the fact that he’s never kissed another man before David, never even thought about anyone in that way before David, because that would probably be too much to handle right now. 

They kiss for what feels like hours, but it becomes softer, less rushed and eventually, Leo moves off the wall and towards the living room, never parting their lips as they sink onto the couch and David presses down on him. His weight feels like it belongs. 

They settle for slow, lazy brushes of lips and tongues as fatigue and exhaustion finally engulfs them and they simultaneously fall asleep, legs entangled and cheeks touching as the sun rises high and light floods the room. 

 

When Leo wakes up, David’s weight is gone and he shoots up, panic rising in his chest without being able to say why he is freaking out like he is. But one quick glance and he sees David sitting in an armchair across from him, quietly studying and observing him. Leo can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes his still slightly swollen lips. 

“Hey,” David says. He looks tired, has dark circles under his eyes and Leo thinks that he probably doesn’t look much different. His neck is stiff, his back hurts and his legs feel like jelly. 

“Hey,” he replies and sits up properly, crosses his legs and swallows.

David is chewing on his lower lip, shirt crinkled, and Leo can’t look away because he wants – he wants – 

He just really wants to kiss him again. But now that the sun is up and all the adrenalin has left Leo’s body, it doesn’t feel right to want it anymore. 

David clears his throat. “I guess we should talk.”

Leo guesses that they should, although this really isn’t a talk he knows how to have. So he says the only think that comes to his mind. “I’m sorry, I-“

But David stops him before he can continue. “No, Leo, don’t. Just – Stop saying you’re sorry every fucking time. You have to stop thinking that everything’s you fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Leo asks and he thinks of Argentina, of David’s call and what he’d said then.

“No. I don’t know why you seem to think you forced any of this on me.”

“Because you wouldn’t as much as look at me for months!” Leo blurts out before he can stop himself. David looks taken aback for a second, before realisation seems to dawn on him.

“And you think I was angry with you?”

Leo looks down and starts playing with the hem of his shirt. “Why else would you not speak to me…” 

He hears David sigh. “Jesus, Leo. I will only say this one time, so you better listen. You didn’t force me to kiss you, or call you or go home with you. I’m as much in this as you. And I didn’t talk to you, because –,” he takes a deep breath, “Because I thought it would just go away. And obviously, it didn’t.”

Leo knows he shouldn’t feel happy about this, but he does. Because he is – David is – and they are – What are they? 

“What now?” he asks and looks up again, looks at David and thinks he doesn’t want to look at anyone or anything else ever again. 

“I don’t know,” David answers. “I don’t exactly have a master plan for situations like this.”

A weird thought crosses Leo’s mind. “I don’t think there’s a paragraph in the club’s manual either.”

That makes both of them laugh quietly and it lightens things up a little, the atmosphere feels less tense, less serious and Leo senses that there isn’t a right answer to any of their questions and there certainly isn’t any right path they can take to get out of this. 

But they’ve taken a step forward now and they know that it’s impossible to go back to where they were before. Leo just can’t see ahead. Everything is foggy and clouded and vague and part of him is scared to find out. 

 

David leaves soon after and there’s a moment when they’re standing on Leo’s porch that Leo thinks David is going to lean over and brush their lips together again. But he doesn’t, sunlight dragging them back into reality against their will and David’s cab looming in the background and when he’s gone, Leo feels empty. He spends the rest of his day off lying on the couch, looking at nothing and listening to nothing, because he can still feel David’s presence in the living room; Leo can feel his weight on his body and his hands in his hair and his tongue in his mouth.

Leo knows that he shouldn’t, but he just needs this thing – whatever it is – to continue. 

 

*

 

Surprisingly, things go almost back to normal at practice. Normal, because they talk again and stretch together and joke around and laugh. Almost, because there are touches lingering when before they were brief and eyes locking for longer and more intense than what would be classified as friendly.

The atmosphere is great though, it really is. Leo finds it still a little surreal to have Cesc back with them, because even though there were constant negotiations with Arsenal and countless offers being made, the deal could have fallen through any time, same as the previous year. 

But Cesc’s home now and their first La Liga match at the Camp Nou is a resounding 5-0 victory over Villarreal and the next morning the press is full of praises. They write about the long lost son returning and that it’s like he’s never left, but Leo knows that’s not true.  
Many years have passed. People change. Cesc has changed and Leo has changed too, probably more than he’d like to admit, especially over the last year.

One day during practice, Pep splits them into two groups and they take turns in scrimmage. Leo sits on the sideline, legs stretched out and an empty water bottle to his left. He is shamelessly watching David, eyes glued to his every movement, sweat glistening on his forehead and the tension of the muscles in his upper arms, all of which sends a tingling through his entire body, strongest in his chest, warming his already heated skin.

A shadow falls over him and a second later, Cesc flops down next to him and gives him a nudge with his elbow. Leo turns his head and smiles, but then his eyes are immediately back on David.

They watch their teammates in silence for a few minutes before Cesc nudges him again. Leo looks at him with raised eyebrows. 

“You’re not going mute on me again, are you?” he says with laughter in his voice and he seems so calm and relaxed and so genuinely happy that Leo can’t help but soak some of it up and he smiles.

“I’m not,” he replies. “Sorry, I was just lost in thought, I guess.”

“I noticed,” Cesc laughs. “Probably already thinking about the next match, huh?”

“Always,” Leo answers. “So are you. Don’t lie.”

“Busted. Good to know that some things just never change, right?”

Leo nods. “Football never changes. Not in Barcelona.”

The smile on Cesc’s lips extends to his eyes and he leans back, lets the sun shine on his face and breathes in deep, like he’s trying to fill his lung with blaugrana. Leo thinks it already is, like his and Xavi’s and Gerard`s – and David’s by now.

“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” Cesc says and closes his eye against the light. “And it feels right, doesn’t it? It feels right.”

Yes, Leo thinks as he looks over to the other group again, where David is currently fighting for the ball with Thiago and Andrés. It feels right.

 

*

 

There’s talk of the Champions League curse when they only manage to achieve an unfortunate draw against AC Milan. No team has ever managed to defend the trophy before and now some self-proclaimed experts say that even Barcelona won’t be able to break the spell. 

Leo knows they should’ve done better. He’s always frustrated when they don’t win, but he knows they’re on the right path and he likes to live in the present. And presently, the team is coming together; they’re finding their rhythm and form and they’re improving day by day. 

They show the critics what they think of their words on the pitch, like Leo likes to do things. He doesn’t feel sorry for Osasuna, not even in the slightest and he feels like he could play another ten matches without a break after the final whistle. Leo gets to keep the ball because he’s gotten his first hat-trick of the season and he’s ecstatic because David almost scored one too and Leo looks for him as soon as he enters the noisy dressing room. 

Leo doesn’t see David immediately though, because he’s getting crowded by Gerard and Dani and Cesc who are all over him and he can’t find David, when all Leo wants to do is hug him and feel him close and maybe he shouldn’t be quite this desperate. But it just feels like forever since their Super Copa win, forever since their last kiss and Leo – 

Leo needs David.

He ducks out of Gerard’s tight grip and makes his way towards his locker, shoves the match ball into it and turns around, feeling a bit short of breath until he finally sees David. The older striker is laughing at something Xavi is saying as he pulls off his jersey and before Leo can stop himself he’s walked over to them.

Leo pulls David into a hug and breathes against his neck, smelling him and feeling him and David’s hands are in his hair, lightly pulling on the now short strands. He thinks he could just lean back slightly and press their lips together again and it’s just so bloody tempting, because David’s skin is hot and smooth and Leo can hear his own blood rushing in his ears. 

A hand on his shoulder that isn’t David’s thankfully pulls him back into reality before he can do anything stupid and all Leo can do is smile numbly as he brings some space between him and David, while he listens to Xavi’s praise.

“How about you get a hat-trick every game from now on,” Xavi laughs, thin lines showing around his dark eyes. “Both of you. That would make things easier.”

“I’ll give it a go,” Leo says, but he doesn’t actually know what he is saying yes to. David’s hand is still resting on the small of his back and his fingers have found a strip of skin where his shirt has risen up and his shorts sit low on his hips. They brush back and forth in a small, continuous movement, hidden from anyone’s eyes, but it drives Leo crazy nonetheless.

 

*

 

The next week passes before Leo realizes it. There’s Valencia and there’s Atlético, another draw, another manita and Leo’s second hat-trick of the season. He thinks of Xavi’s words and the game against Osasuna and most of all David’s touch. It’s been so long, it’s been too long, but all their focus has to be on football at the moment and it doesn’t leave time for anything else.

Leo doesn’t know if it’s good or bad. Part of him is relieved that his mind can’t constantly wander off due to the intensity of practice, but subconsciously his body is drawn to David and his mind is consumed by him and more often than not, Leo dreams of him.

They are weird dreams, Leo thinks, quite strange, because nothing really happens. He just sees David when he’s asleep, nothing more and sometimes he tries to reach for him but he finds that he has no arms, no body and is just some formless presence that can watch from a distance.

Leo is paired up with Cesc more often now, Pep seeming to want to make the most of their leftover and building-up-again connection from their La Masía days which fits so well with the new strategic formation they’ve tried out during home games. And Leo would lie if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Cesc has changed, but he finds himself liking the grown-up version of his childhood friend a lot. 

When they were young, they’d been an unbalanced trio; Cesc and Gerard on one side and Leo on the other. Now it feels like Cesc has moved into the middle. And he belongs there, Cesc belongs to Barcelona, to them and it’s a strange combination of past and present and future. 

 

*

 

Leo’s skin tingles when he knocks on David’s door late after their match against Bate and he tells himself that it’s the remainder of rain falling down on him for one hour on the pitch. David doesn’t answer straight away and Leo looks around nervously a few times, because he doesn’t have an excuse for standing out in the hallway in case anyone should find him here. 

At least two minutes pass and Leo is about to turn around again when David finally opens the door and Leo can’t tell if the other is surprised to see him. His expression doesn’t give too much away. 

“Hey,” Leo says quietly and shoves his hands into his pockets, teetering on his toes. “Can I come in?”

David shrugs, but steps aside and Leo can’t help the feeling that something seems off. He waits for David to brush past him before he follows him into the room, which is an exact replica of Leo’s at the other end of the hall.  
David doesn’t say anything, only looks at Leo expectantly.

“Do you want me to go?” Leo asks eventually.

He is relieved when David’s expression softens almost instantly, but his lips still form a thin line. “No, I don’t. But don’t you rather want to hang out with Cesc?”

Leo blinks. “Cesc? Why?”

“Because you two seem to be attached by the hip lately.”

David turns around and sits down on the edge of his bed. Leo doesn’t get it. Of course he spends a lot of time with Cesc, he spends a lot of time with all their teammates and he always thought basically the same of Xavi and David. 

“So are you and Xavi,” he ends up saying, because that’s just stating a fact.

“That’s not the same,” David retorts immediately, eyes flashing with something Leo doesn’t recognize. “They’re writing bloody essays about your special connection.”

“So?” Leo asks. “They wrote the same stuff about us last year and – oh.” Now he gets it. 

David folds his arms and looks to the side and Leo feels – he’s not quite sure. He feels warm and strangely relieved. Leo walks over to David, following the spur of the moment and only stops when he’s right in front of him. David looks up.

Leo wants to lean down, touch David’s face, David’s lips. He wants to push David down or pull him over to feel the weight of his body again, but Leo doesn’t know if he’d let him do it, if David would allow him to do that. 

David takes that decision away from him as he suddenly reaches up, places a firm hand on Leo’s neck, rapidly pulling him down and smashing their lips together in an almost possessive manner. Leo gasps in surprise and David uses that to immediately deepen the kiss and Leo pushes closer, as close as he can before David loses his balance and falls back onto the mattress. 

It knocks the air out of them, but it still feels good to Leo, it feels amazing and so much better than any hat-trick he’s ever scored or any match they’ve ever won. David is quick to turn them over, pushes himself up on his elbows, bodies flush, pressed together and Leo is already harder than he’s ever been in his life and it arouses him even more when he moves and feels that David isn’t unaffected either. 

Leo moves his hips again, creates friction and their lips part in a perfectly synchronized moan. David looks down on him, face flushed, with a mixture of disbelief and adoration and Leo thinks his heart might jump out of his throat any second when the other striker brushes his cheek with his fingertips.

“I don’t like to share,” he whispers against Leo’s lips as he leans down again and their mouths mould around each other for another seemingly endless sequence of moments. 

When they break apart their breathing is strained and heavy, echoing through the dark hotel room. 

“You don’t have to.”

 

*

 

Things change after Bate and Belarus. Leo can’t exactly put a finger to it, but he thinks that they’ve crossed a line – one of many. 

Practice is like always, they pair up or they don’t, it doesn’t make a difference, because when everyone goes home, Leo and David stay and keep going for a little while. They take a few free-kicks and penalty shots, do some dribbling and passing. Leo enjoys playing with David and he enjoys their extra sessions; but they both know it’s only to weirdly justify what happens after they leave the pitch. 

Leo has seen David without clothes countless of times, but undressing him and being undressed by him is so new and exciting that it makes his skin crawl. When they’re in the showers, water trickling down their bare bodies, and David looks at him with dark, piercing eyes, Leo can’t help but feel exposed, but in a good way, like he’s giving everything to David and the other ravenously takes it without hesitation.

 

*

 

They don’t sleep with each other – at least not yet. Leo knows it’s not down to lack of want and desire. It’s simply due to a sheer lack of experience and they’re probably both slightly freaking out over it 

 

*

 

“What are you doing for Christmas?”

Leo looks up as Cesc rolls a football over to sit on it. That’s another ritual; every day, they sit down together, it doesn’t matter where and when, and talk about anything in the world. 

“Christmas? Isn’t it a bit early to talk about that?”

Cesc looks at him like he’s a lunatic. “Early? It’ll be November next week.”

Leo raises his eyebrows. “Already?”

Cesc grins and shakes his head. “And people say I have my head in the clouds… You probably live your life according to the La Liga-calendar. But I’m serious. Christmas?”

“I don’t know,” Leo answers as his eyes automatically search for David on the pitch. He’s talking to Víctor. “Same as always? I guess my family will fly over. Or I might go to Rosario.”

“We should go to London,” Cesc says like he hasn’t even registered Leo’s reply. “Like, you, me, Geri. For old time’s sake. A proper reunion.”

“Why London?” 

Leo absentmindedly wonders if David would like to go to London, but then he has to shake his head at himself, because David will most definitely be celebrating with his family. He raises his hand to his temple, there’s a short sting, he might be getting a headache out of nowhere again.

“Because London is fucking brilliant around Christmas,” is Cesc’s enthusiastic answer and his eyes sparkle and Leo thinks that his friend probably misses England more than he wants to admit sometimes. Maybe it’s the same feeling he gets when thinking of Argentina. “The lights and decorations at Harrods, ice rinks in Hyde Park, the street lamps on Regent Street. And don’t get me started on the pubs and the booze.”

“Okay,” Leo laughs, “I won’t. But isn’t Christmas reserved for family? You can get drunk any time of the year.”

“Only a couple of days then. Come on, don’t be a party pooper.”

Leo watches as David walks closer, taking a break as well, flanked by Víctor and Pedro and he thinks of Christmas and David, and David and Christmas and he guesses he’ll probably need all the distractions he can get. 

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll come.” 

London seems like a good idea. 

 

*

 

Cesc is right, the following week it’s November and Leo can see the old year slowly fading away. But maybe that’s a good thing.  
Because it’s November when David moans his name whilst coming in the showers and when Leo gets his third hat-trick of the season against Bilbao. When Alexis returns from injury and when they gain another three point advantage and Leo sinks to his knees in front of David for the first time.

It’s November when they go to Milan. 

 

*

 

Leo knows beating AC Milan on their home turf is not going to be an easy task, but it’s a challenge he’s more than happy to take on. They have to be top of their group to advance to the Round of 16 in the best possible position. The confidence boost they’d get from a win would be absolutely priceless.

David doesn’t start. Pep wants Alexis to smell some Champions League are as early as possible. The first half of the match is incredibly intense and both teams treat it like it’s already a knockout stage or even the final. There are a couple of yellow cards early on and when Leo pulls off his socks after a goalless first half, his legs are covered in bruises. But he’s used to and so he just readjusts his shinpads, ready to go another forty-five minutes.

Ibrahimovic almost scores in the opening minutes and Leo can feel his heart drop a few inches, but Víctor beats their ex-teammate to the ball and saves their necks.  
In the 60th minute, David comes on for Pedro and Leo immediately feels how their game shifts slightly. David is more ruthless in cutting open the defence and his runs are sharper. But most of all, Leo can feel David’s movements.

He picks him out in the 78th minute after an unsuccessful attack from Milan. They simultaneously start the counter-attack and Leo knows David’s run by heart, without looking. The pass is long and diagonal and David slams it past Amelia with his right foot.

 

Everything that happens after David’s goal is like a blur. Leo doesn’t know what it is that makes him feel like this, but it’s purely electrifying. Some players go out for celebratory drinks, nothing much, but Leo doesn’t tag along and neither does David and his breath is hot on Leo’s neck when he opens his hotel room’s door.

Once they are inside, the electricity that’s taken a hold of Leo’s body discharges itself and then multiplies when David pins him against the wall and bites his neck. A breathless moan escapes his lips, his hands are shaking and they continue to tremble as he pulls on David’s shirt and fumbles with the waistband of his trousers.

David’s hands are a bit steadier when they reach down between them.

“David-“

Air hitches in Leo’s throat and flips over countless times and Leo’s hot, he’s fucking burning from the inside and he knows, he just knows that tonight, no hand- or blow-job or anything will be enough. He needs to feel David, really feel him like he’s imagined too many times than he wants to admit.

Fortunately, David seems to feel the same way as he pulls Leo away from the wall and manoeuvres him towards the bed. The mattress bounces beneath them when they tumble down on it. Leo finally manages to pull off David’s shirt and his own is discarded on the floor soon after.

Leo loves David’s skin. He thinks he might be addicted to it, addicted to how it feels and smells and tastes and he can never get enough of it. It’s not even enough when their trousers and shorts are gone and they’re grinding against each other, pleasure building up and up until it becomes unbearable. 

“David,” Leo gasps. “David, please, I-“

Leo doesn’t even know how to articulate what he wants and just hopes that David senses it the same way he senses everything on the pitch. 

David slows down his movements and they kiss, slowly and deeply and Leo feels the other pulling away a little. He looks down on him and Leo can see that he’s trembling lightly. He’s most definitely shaking like a leaf too. But they both want it, they both need it and Leo is sure that no matter what, it’s going to be amazing.

 

It’s not. Leo has to admit that it’s far from terrible, but it’s probably equally far from amazing too. If he’d have to use one word to describe it, he’d most likely go for uncoordinated. Or maybe even clumsy. 

That’s understandable though he thinks afterwards, when they’re lying on their back and facing the ceiling, bodies still naked, sheets crumpled on the floor. Neither he nor David had any clue, lacking everything that would have made things a little less complicated.

Nevertheless, Leo is happy. “Well,” he says eventually. He can’t help himself. “That was interesting.”

He turns his had to face David and David turns his head too and they stare at each other for the longest of moments. Then they crack up laughing, hands finding each other and holding on and Leo is completely out of breath when they finally calm down. He thinks this is probably the most random and surreal moment of his life so far.

David lifts their hands to his lips and presses a kiss to Leo’s fingers. His smile is soft.

“We’ll get better,” he says calmly, quietly and Leo’s heart flips.

 

*

 

They don’t get the chance to improve straight away though. The team travels to Madrid to play Getafe and wins thanks to a brace from Alexis and another goal from Xavi and then suddenly it’s December and the third Clásico only two weeks away. Leo and David are both too dedicated to waste any energy on something other than football.

They win comfortably at home against Levante and Bate before they’re off to Madrid again, this time to the Bernabéu. And it’s a terrible match, and ugly, it really is. It result in them winning 2-1, but there are many fouls and three red cards in the end, Barcelona reduced to ten men and Madrid to nine. The only positive thing is probably that the game doesn’t end in another brawl and they’re all wise enough to keep the aggression on the pitch.

But three points are three points and Leo’s happy that they manage to hold onto their La Liga lead.

 

*

 

He has mixed feelings about the Christmas gathering. It’s already been a year since that fateful kiss outside in the yard and Leo can’t quite believe how much has happened. He wonders if there’s going to be a repetition, if he’s even going to see a lot of David that evening, not actually being able to bare the thought of being apart from him for the next few weeks. Leo wonders if David feels the same.

But Leo never finds out. David brings his wife and Leo excuses himself after an hour, claiming that his plane is leaving early the next morning. He’s getting a headache anyway.

 

*

 

Leo flies to Argentina a few days before Christmas Eve. He’s made plans to meet up with Cesc and Gerard in London a week from then to celebrate the New Year and afterwards head back to Barcelona together. 

When he arrives in Rosario though, Leo feels ill. He thinks he might have caught a cold or something and he spends the first day back home asleep in his room, turning and twisting around on the sheets, not resting, not sleeping but weirdly drained and exhausted.

His mum enters his room in the evening to call him for dinner. She sits down on the bed and brushes some hair away from his sweaty forehead. He tells her he’s not hungry, that he’s tired and just wants to sleep, but she insists and Leo thinks it’s probably for the best. 

He sits at the dinner table with heavy eyelids and a throbbing headache and pushes the food around on his plate, feeling nauseous and short of breath. Leo gulps down a big glass of water under the worrying eyes of his family before he falls back into bed and sleeps.

 

*

 

Leo finds himself trapped. He’s in a large, vitreous cylinder that is slowly filling up with cold water, brushing around his knees and numbing his legs. He looks up. There’s a solid lid that makes it impossible for him to escape. Leo’s trapped.

 

*

 

It turns out that going to London is actually one of Cesc’s rather brilliant ideas. Leo still feels a little off when he meets him and Gerard at Heathrow Airport, but they’re both experts at taking his mind off things.

Cesc plays tour guide and fortunately, the cold weather allows them to almost completely cover up and thus go unnoticed most times. On top of that, Cesc knows the places where they won’t be bothered by fans or the times when certain spots are mostly empty. They stay away from the tourist attractions too.

They spend an entire day in an area called Camden and walk along the channel, past brightly coloured boats with steaming cups of coffee. Cesc shows them around the market that is made up of countless buildings and tents and waggons and halls and alleys. Leo buys a ridiculous sequined jacket for Dani, as a joke, but he knows the Brazilian will wear it anyway at some point and some printed t-shirts for his nephews.  
He buys an old The Beatles record for David, just to tease him and he can’t help but smile at the thought of him, heart beating fast and unsteady in his chest.

“You know he hates them, right?” Cesc says, trying on some weirdly shaped hat that makes him look like a French revolutionary.

“That’s the point,” Leo retorts and tries to find the right change in his pocket. 

He turns around to find Gerard looking down on him, wrinkled forehead and questioning look in his eyes. “I don’t get you two,” he says and shakes his head to himself.

“I don’t either,” Leo answers. And it’s the truth.

They watch the fireworks over London on New Year’s Eve and Leo and Cesc team up against Gerard and drive him insane, which is really nice for a change and when they board the plane back to Barcelona, Leo feels relaxed.

 

Leo also feels incredibly giddy and excited. He can’t wait to see David again.

 

Leo’s only back at his house for a couple of hours when the doorbell rings. He opens the door and is honestly surprised to see David standing on his porch for the first time since their Super Copa win. 

“David, what-“

His sentence is cut short by David’s lips and they tumble backwards inside Leo’s hallway, hands pulling violently at too many layers of clothing, suddenly overcome by all the yearning and the desire that was bottled up inside of Leo the past weeks.

“Fuck, I missed you,” David says against his lips and Leo answers by kissing him again and a second later they’re almost crawling up the stairs, leaving a trail of jackets and jumpers and shoes and belts, because neither can wait any longer.

 

It’s mind-blowing. Leo doesn’t have another word that comes close to describing their second time. He’s not sure what actually makes the difference this time. Maybe him and David are more desperate and more determined and maybe they just don’t need as much practice as they thought they would.

When David’s inside him, deeply and totally and rocking against him, skin meeting skin with every thrust, Leo feels more complete than he has ever felt. And it’s a curious feeling, because he can remember a time when he didn’t even think there was anything missing.

But he can’t be without David, he can’t and he loudly moans his name, over and over again as David moans his, their voices echoing through his house and they come almost simultaneously, David collapsing on top of him and Leo immediately wraps his arms around him. He doesn’t want to let go.

It takes a while until Leo thinks he’s capable of speech again.

“How did you know I was back?” is the first thing that crosses his mind, funny enough.

David’s breath is hot against his neck when he answers. “Piqué’s fucking tweets. Don’t ask me why I even read that shit.”

Leo laughs softly. “I guess we should both thank him then.”

“Piqué? Never.”

Leo laughs more and suddenly remembers and shoves David off him, who acknowledges the loss of contact with a snort. He ignores it and searches through his bag that he’d just thrown into his bedroom a few hours earlier. The record hidden behind his back, Leo approaches the bed again, taking a moment to take in David’s bare form on the mattress. Leo crawls on top of him and settles on David’s hips who gasps at the friction. Then he holds up the old disc and watches with amusement how David’s facial expression changes from confused to almost disgusted.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” but the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, showing that David does see the humour in it.

Nevertheless, he takes the record out of Leo’s hands and entangles their fingers and their eyes lock and Leo doesn’t want to remember the time when David didn’t play for Barcelona, wasn’t part of his life and he soaks everything up so that it doesn’t hurt that much when David doesn’t spend the night.

 

*

 

Their routine changes after that. Leo thinks that the lines are getting blurred more and more. Being with David is not constricted to practice and the dressing room anymore, because they frequently drive back to Leo’s place in between sessions or after. 

In the first few weeks, they leave trails of clothes behind them on their way to the bedroom and sometimes don’t even make it that far. They don’t have sex every time though. They talk or just lie on Leo’s coach in silence, hands roaming, lips caressing and Leo isn’t sure what’s more intimate. 

He starts to miss David not only on the pitch like when he’s rested against Málaga, but at home as well and when David forgets one of his shirts one day, Leo decides to keep it. He thinks David has noticed, but he isn’t sure and Leo just pretends that he hasn’t. 

 

*

 

The dressing room is bustling but relaxed as Leo sits down next to David, who has a pack of ice pressed to his knee. They’ve just won 3-1 against Real Sociedad, which is a good result considering their last game against them and they both scored, but David’s leg had gotten caught by the goalkeeper’s feet when he’d been close to scoring goal number four. 

Leo places a careful hand on top of David’s, but the older striker immediately pulls away and throws a look around the room. Nobody is paying attention to them. Leo keeps his hand to himself anyway. 

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, carefully, because he’d be an idiot not to sense that David is not in the best mood.

“What do you think?” David returns the question and Leo bites his lip. David pauses, the he sighs and looks down. “Of course I’m fucking okay. It’s nothing serious. Still pissed off.”

“How many matches?” 

David adjusts the icepack, winces as he tries to stretch out his leg. “Don’t know. Hopefully not more than one.”

Leo nods. He doesn’t like the thought of that. Time with David is rare anyway at the moment; the team steadily progressing in all competitions and Leo feels that on the pitch is the only place where they can let go of everything.

He lowers his voice. “Do you want to-“ Leo doesn’t need to finish. David knows what he means.

David looks up again and answers equally quietly. “I can’t, Leo. You know I can’t. I have to go home.”

Where is home, Leo thinks, chest clenching uncomfortably and he bends down to untie his shoes, movements strangely mechanical.

“Leo,” David speaks up again, “listen, I-“

“It’s fine,” Leo cuts him off quickly. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

“Leo, don’t-“

“Oi!” Gerard suddenly shouts from across the dressing room, interrupting David in whatever he wants to say, disturbing their private moment. Leo looks up. “What are you two gossiping about again?”

“You, dickhead,” David bites back mockingly, but Leo can’t even force himself to smile. His head is pounding from exhaustion and noise.

 

*

 

The water is slowly filling up, encircling his waist. It’s so cold that it feels like it’s burning his skin and Leo presses against the glass. But it’s thick and solid and now matter how hard Leo slams his fists against it, it doesn’t crack. 

 

*

 

Leo takes two painkillers before he goes to practice after their day off, but they don’t help. He can’t concentrate properly and misses a few shots during scrimmage that he’d normally slam past any goalkeeper and he gets really angry with himself.

David is training away from the group because of his knee and Leo doesn’t see him the entire day, doesn’t see him the day after that, or the one after that and something inside his head keeps slamming against his temples, constantly and especially when he’s at home, so he decides to stay on the pitch when everyone leaves in the evening. Leo thinks he needs to improve anyway, so he shoots and dribbles and runs until his legs are so tired he can barely walk.

David doesn’t join them all week and Leo thinks about texting him, calling him but decides that he shouldn’t bother him. He doesn’t want to impose himself on David just because he misses him. Leo’s not entitled to. He’s not – 

 

*

 

Pep subs him off in the second half against Osasuna. Leo has scored twice, but he’s far from done and he kicks off his boots in frustration when he sinks down on the bench next to Cesc, glaring at Pep’s back.

Leo knows he’s being unreasonable, he can’t play every minute of every game, but that doesn’t change the fact that he still wants to; he feels capable of doing it. He wants to play, he needs to play and he didn’t have David on the pitch with him and Leo doesn’t have him on the bench next to him. David isn’t even in Pamplona with the squad and Leo – he doesn’t know.

Cesc nudges his arm and offers him a bottle. “Everything alright?” he asks, brows crooked with concern.

Leo declines. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” Cesc retorts and holds the water up right in front of Leo’s face. “You should have some water too.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“You just ran your lungs out for seventy minutes. If you don’t drink this I’ll force it down your throat.”

Leo shoots him a calculating look and concludes that Cesc probably would really do that, so he sighs, knowing he’s just being stubborn without reason, and empties the bottle under Cesc’s watchful eyes.

“Satisfied?” he asks, but Cesc only wrinkles his forehead in thought and then turns back towards the pitch to watch the last quarter of an hour. 

They win 4-1 and stay on top of the table for another week. When he gets a text from David later that night, congratulating him on his goals, Leo can finally be happy with scoring. 

 

The smile stays on Leo’s face until the door of his house falls shut behind him and he is greeted by nothing but taunting silence.

 

*

 

The first leg of the Champions League’s Round of 16 is at the Camp Nou. They win against Porto and David is still not playing. Leo powers through ninety-three intense minutes so that his body is too exhausted to allow his mind to wander later.

The next day is training free and Cesc invites the entire team over to his place to watch the Arsenal game against Chelsea. Leo goes because his house is big and quiet and because he’s got nothing else to do. Of course, Gerard and Puyi are there and also Xavi, Adriano, Alexis and Dani. Dani is wearing the sequined jacket Leo bought for him in London and they all laugh, because he just looks ridiculous.

“That was meant to be a joke, you know,” Leo tells him.

Dani just shrugs and grins wide, sequins reflecting the greenish light coming from the large TV screen. “I know. Still pulling it off though.”

David’s there too.

“They can win,” Cesc says with conviction when the referee blows his whistle for the first time. “They’ve improved so much over the last months.”

Leo would love to agree with Cesc, but if he’s honest, he hasn’t been following Arsenal closely, or any other team for that matter. His head is already bursting just being filled with Barcelona and David. David. On top of that, the game it at Stamford Bridge, home turf for the Blues and Leo guesses that the home side has improved too.

Leo’s proven right when Chelsea scores after sixty-two minutes, a clever strike from Mata and luckily for Arsenal, the Blues can’t turn any other chance into a goal until full-time. He follows Cesc looks a bit crushed and Leo wants to cheer him up, but he doesn’t know what to say, because he doesn’t know how Cesc is feeling, he doesn’t know how it feels to see one’s old club losing. 

“There’s still the second leg at the Emirates,” Cesc says and Leo thinks he could’ve just said that. 

There’s always Barcelona, Leo wants to say but he doesn’t, because they all gather their things and get ready to go and suddenly there’s a hand on his shoulder and David’s voice in his ear.

“Give me a ride home?” he asks but it’s not a question and Leo’s mouth goes dry, heat already creeping up his neck when they walk to his car.

 

All blood and air disappear from his brain when David slides a hand down the front of his jeans while he is driving and Leo has to bite down on his lip, hard, to focus on the traffic and actually getting them to his house in one piece. 

Once they’re in the hallway, David is pressed up against Leo’s back, teeth digging into the soft skin of his neck and Leo lets out a breathless moan. It turns out to be one of those times where they don’t make it up the stairs. 

David pushes him against the back of his couch and Leo’s upper body slumps forward as David takes him from behind, still biting down on his exposed neck. Leo meets every thrust, clenching down, and when David sneaks a hand beneath his shirt, Leo takes his hand and holds it tight, entwining their fingers, not letting go the entire time, not even when everything turns white around him as he comes, scream muffled by a mouth full of pillow. 

Leo slides over the backrest, body heavy and tingling and he pulls David down with him, enjoying the feeling of the now so familiar weight against his body. The other’s lips are still ghosting over his skin, sending comfortable shivers down Leo’s spine and before he even registers that he’s opened his mouth, words spilling out of it.

“I love you.”

Leo knows that David hears him although he doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move either, just stays pressed to his side, teeth grazing along Leo’s jaw, hands intertwined and eventually, Leo falls into a deep slumber.

 

Leo is awoken by the soft staccato of rain against windows. It’s unexpectedly cold, still dark, and first Leo wonders if he accidently switched on the air-conditioning. He realizes a second later that it’s due to a lack of body heat. David isn’t lying next to him anymore.

He sits up with a start, sudden panic seeping through his veins and he looks around. Leo’s eyes almost immediately fall to the terrace door. It’s open and Leo can see big drops of water bouncing off the stone tiles. 

He walks outside; first stone then grass cold and wet beneath his feet. David is standing on his lawn, eyes focused on an old football Leo has had for years, balancing it on his bare foot. His shirt is entirely soaked and sticking to his upper body and Leo can see the fine outlines of his chest, his ribcage. He stays quiet and watches.

After a moment that seems to stretch on forever, David turns his head. His eyes bore into Leo, dark and intense, incredibly clear but also questioning.

“What are we even doing?” he asks and his voice is muffled by the steady drum of the rain.

Leo wants to give him an answer, but he doesn’t know how to phrase one. He wants to say he doesn’t know, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t want it to stop. Instead he closes the distance between them and kisses David, hoping that it will give David the answer he’s searching for.

 

It’s nice to wake up next to David. Leo likes how he looks in the morning, face soft and young and also a bit cranky and he enjoys kissing him before even thinking about anything else. It’s not awkward when they get up and get ready for practice, it feels almost disturbingly normal and right and Leo suddenly thinks that he wants that. He wants that. Every day. With David.

 

Leo stays closer than usual to David during practice. He wants to hold on as long as he can. They stretch together and sit next to each other during their break and lunch with the team and when they’re all standing in a circle, listening to Pep’s instruction for the next match against Atlético Madrid, Leo leans on David, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

He’s thinking about everything and nothing in particular, eyes focused on either the football to his feet or David across the pitch when a hand suddenly ruffles his hair, pulling on the strands. Leo looks up. Gerard, who else. 

“New flame?” he asks grinning, wiggling his eyebrows.

“What?”

Gerard points to his neck. “You’ve got a hickey the size of a fucking football,” he says and laughs.

Leo feels a flash of panic and his hand shoots up to quickly adjust his neck-warmer that must’ve slouched down a little during scrimmage. Shit. Before he can stop himself his eyes are scanning the pitch. David is looking at them. 

“Must have been one passionate night, huh?” Gerard continues and tries to pull on his snood again. Leo bats his hand away. “Gonna give me any details? Blonde or brunette?”

“Fuck off,” Leo says and tries to walk away, but the defender trails him and doesn’t let him escape the situation. “It’s not a hickey.”

“The hell it is,” Gerard insists and pulls him close by his sleeve. “You might be able to get away with Cesc, he’s hopeless. But not me. I’m sharp as a knife.”

“And I’m telling you, it’s not a hickey,” Leo says and wriggles free.

Gerard laughs open mouthed. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that. But I see things Leo,” and he winks. “I see them.”

He walks off, but Leo stays frozen to the spot.

 

*

 

David walks up to him in March. Leo is sitting on his bench in the dressing room and is actually waiting for the older striker to join him on the pitch after their teammates have left. He needs to practice his free-kicks and David is a genius when it comes to them. Xavi is the last one to leave and he throws a quick look over his shoulder, maybe wanting to say something but he doesn’t and then the door falls shut and they’re alone.

Normally that’s a good thing. It’s the part Leo looks forward to most. But today he can sense that something’s up. David sits down next to him, close, but not close enough for Leo’s liking. He holds still though, doesn’t move. 

“I think Patricia knows something,” David says after a moment of quiet and Leo’s insides clench suddenly, painfully. “I mean, I’m not sure. But she knows something is up.”

Leo’s eyes are fixed on the floor. He needs to concentrate to keep breathing. His body seems keen on shutting down entirely.

“I can’t risk her finding anything out,” David continues. 

Leo’s fingernails dig into his skin, inflicting sharp pain. Other than that, he feels numb. “We’re not being obvious,” he says and maybe he sounds desperate. 

“I know,” David says. “But she knows me, Leo. And I can’t risk it. That’s my family on the line.”

All air is knocked out of Leo’s lung and he can’t remember how to breathe. He gets up, not even being able to feel the ground beneath his feet. Leo needs air, he needs to get back on the pitch, he needs to focus on something.

“Leo,” he hears David say, but his voice sounds far away. “You have to understand-“

“I do,” Leo cuts him off. “I do. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have – I didn’t – “ and he trails of, running out of words, running out of thoughts and air. 

Leo almost runs back out onto the pitch and he can only breathe again when his boot clanks against the hard leather of a football.

 

*

 

David hardly ever stays behind after practice after their talk, but Leo’s thankful for every second that he does. He thinks their kisses are becoming deeper and more desperate, same as the quick fucks in the showers after everyone’s gone. Leo’s knows it’s not ideal and it’s not enough, not for him. But he knows that it’s all that David can give and Leo has no right to ask for more.

Leo stays behind in more than one way and he keeps practicing his free-kicks and penalties until it’s too dark to see the goal, the sound of leather hitting the back of the net drowning out his pounding headaches and tight feeling in his chest. When he goes home it feels like the entire weight of the Camp Nou crashes down on him and he lies in bed, quiet and motionless, trying to fight away sleep.

 

*

 

The water is steadily rising, filling the tank and Leo can’t keep his feet on the ground anymore. He’s floating in the freezing water, getting tossed about, hitting the solid glass, slowly ascending towards the solid lid that doesn’t allow him to escape.

 

*

 

March passes even more quickly than February and Leo wishes for more time; more time to play, more time with David. He knows he can’t have either. The Champions League semis are getting closer and Leo’s extra sessions after practice are getting increasingly longer, because the sun goes down later each week.

Leo notices the effects everything has on his body. He sees the bruises and feels the strain of his muscles and the almost constant pounding in his head. But he’s an athlete, he’s used to overcoming tiredness, regardless whether it’s physical or emotional. Leo starts to drink large amounts of coffee in the morning to fight off the fatigue due to a restless night and provisionally takes two painkillers before he leaves for practice. 

The first leg of the semi-final is away from home and Leo scores twice, already breaking his Champions League record of the previous season, but Pep nevertheless subs him in the second half for Alexis and Leo is pissed off, because he knows he had another goal in him that night. When he sits down on the bench, his nose starts to bleed and it doesn’t stop and he has to go back to their dressing room with Emili, who tells him it’s probably due to physical overexertion. He pumps Leo full with vitamins and supplements.

Back at the hotel, David walks him to his room and when Leo gets another nosebleed, feels nauseous and tired, David holds a tissue to his face and a cold towel to his forehead and stays until Leo has fallen asleep. 

 

*

 

The next match is an unfortunate draw against Real Madrid at home. Both teams appear to be exhausted from their Champions League match and nevertheless manage to score three times each. Leo gets two, David one. 

Depending on the outcome of their respective second semi-final legs, they could meet again for the final in Munich and Leo is not sure how he feels about that. Playing against Madrid is not as much fun as it used to be. His body is already in enough pain without Carvalho, Pepe and Ramos body-checking him to the ground.

Leo doesn’t change his routine though. He stays late because his free-kicks are still not sharp enough, lacking precision and he just doesn’t get them right without David standing next to him.

 

*

 

Leo spends the entire day after the second leg in bed. He can’t move a muscle and every limb feels like it’s being dragged down by countless weights. He’s even too tired to feel happy about getting a chance to defend the title that they won the previous year.

His phone rings when it’s already dark again and Leo checks the time before answering – it’s past ten. 

“Are you watching?!” sounds loudly in his ears before Leo can even say a word. It’s Cesc. 

“Watching what?” Leo tries to sit up, but his body just slides down the headboard again, no tension in his muscles to keep him upright.

“You’re kidding, right?” Cesc asks gobsmacked. “What are you even doing?”

“I was sleeping,” Leo answers truthfully. “Was tired.”

“Well, this will wake you up, my friend, I tell you. And you’ll better switch on your TV this instant, because Madrid and Munich are having a penalty shoot-out.”

“What?” This time, Leo does manage to sit up. His vision goes black for a second until his circulation catches up and he fumbles for the remote, for the first time actually glad that he’d decided to put a TV into his bedroom.

“Oh yes,” Cesc says, sounding incredibly excited. “Gomez put them ahead in the last minute and now they’re 3-3 on aggregate. Extra-time just finished.”

A second later, the screen illuminates Leo’s bedroom and he watches as Robben walks to the penalty spot, facing his former teammate Casillas..

“Who scored the goals?” he asks.

“Ronaldo, who else,” Cesc says and snorts. “Gomez got the two for Bayern. Wanna bet?”

“Not really, no,” Leo answers, phone pressed to his ear, eyes on the screen.

He knows that Casillas is a penalty killer. But so is the young German keeper Neuer. He remember him from the World Cup, where he’d been like a fucking wall, disallowing every attempt on his goal. There are strong shooters on both teams too, which is proven when Robben scores and Pipita too, followed by Schweinsteiger, Alonso, Müller and Ronaldo. But then Casillas denies Ribéry and Neuer denies Benzema and when Gomez slams the ball into the back of the net, it’s all down to Özil, who has to face his national compatriot. 

Neuer jumps into the right corner and fists the ball to the side.

 

*

 

Leo is pressed against the lid, water pressuring his body against the top of the tank. His lips slide over cold metal, his body silently screaming for oxygen. Water fills his lungs as the last bit of air vanishes into nothing and Leo desperately lashes about, arms and legs hitting solid surfaces. Leo can’t breathe. He just can’t breathe and he screams. David. David, David, David. Leo can’t breathe. He can’t – He – 

He wakes up with a start, gasping for air and almost choking on it and Leo gets tangled in the sheets when he tries to get up. His legs are shaky and he almost falls over a pair of shoes as he darts into his bathroom and just makes it to the toilet before throwing up.

 

*

 

Leo barely makes it through practice. He feels like crap but he brushes all the concerned questions aside, stating that he simply didn’t sleep well and just feels tired, which isn’t even a lie. 

David is more persistent than anyone, so Leo tries to stay away from him. He doesn’t want to worry him, he doesn’t want David to worry about anything concerning him and he knows he won’t be able to hold up the façade when the older striker keeps getting close to him. Leo wants to play; he doesn’t want to be benched. He needs to score so that they can win La Liga and the Champions League and everything else.

Leo’s fine. He really is just fine. He just needs one night of dreamless sleep and he’ll be back on top.

His movements are much slower than usually and so Leo only makes it to the showers once everyone, even David, is gone. But Leo welcomes the silence and tranquillity and he’s actually looking forward to a cold shower waking up his system. And the water is nice, it feels good, it feels – 

Leo tilts his head back and lets the spray drizzle onto his face and suddenly, something in his brain snaps as he accidently swallows water and panic rises in his chest. There’s water everywhere and it’s too much and Leo is surrounded by it, surrounded by glass and he can’t breathe, he can’t fucking breathe and now he can’t see anything either.

His back collides with the tiled wall and he slides down, water mercilessly raining down on him, trying to drown him and Leo opens his mouth, sucks in as much air as possible but nothing reaches his lungs. Everything is blurred and spinning and Leo fears that the tiles will open up and swallow him, trapping him somewhere without escape.

Leo’s gasping for air, noises echoing through the room alongside the constant patter of the shower and abruptly there are hesitant footsteps too, slowly approaching but Leo can’t turn his head. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, he can’t – 

“Fuck, Leo!”

The water stops and someone kneels down in front of him, frames his face, hands supporting and cold and Leo blinks, tries to see but there’s still no air.

“Fuck!” he hears again, still time louder, perhaps more desperate. “Fuck. Breathe, Leo, come on! Try to breathe deep, okay? Slow and deep. Fuck!”

A hand constantly pats his cheek and Leo blinks, eyes finally focusing and he can feel his lung opening up again, accepting the oxygen Leo is so desperate to get into his body.

“That’s it,” and Leo recognizes Xavi right in front of him, dressed in street clothes, looking at him with concern. “Stay calm, just breathe slowly. Everything’s okay.”

Fucking nothing is okay, Leo wants to shout but his throat is itchy and sore and barely has enough air as it is, so he stays silent and focuses on Xavi’s cool palms resting on his jaw to stay collected.  
Xavi supports his head for a while until Leo feels life returning to his body.

“Come on,” Xavi says quietly and moves next to him, takes his left arm and drapes it across his shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here and dried up.”

He pulls him up and they almost tumble over on the wet tiles, because Leo’s legs feel numb and he doesn’t have any strength left in them. But Xavi manages to steady him, one arm holding Leo’s hand on his shoulder, the other tightly wrapped around his waist.  
Leo thinks he might be suddenly stuffed with wadding. He tries to tell his body to move, but there seems to be no connection to his brain anymore.

Xavi sits him down on a bench and disappears for a few seconds, which is enough to make Leo sway again. Firm hands steady him for a second time and Xavi wraps him in a big towel. Leo only notices then that he’s shivering. His entire body is covered in goose bumps. He feels pathetic. 

Xavi sits down opposite of him and studies him with his dark eyes. His clothes are half soaked but he doesn’t seem to mind. Leo pulls the towel closer with stiff arms.

“Okay,” Xavi begins after a slightly awkward silence. “What’s going on?”

Leo coughs and it takes a few attempts until he has found his voice. “Nothing,” he answers, sounding strained and utterly exhausted. “I’m just tired.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Xavi shoots back and folds his arms, brows furrowing. “I know you Leo, we’ve been playing together for years. And you are not just tired.”

Leo avoids Xavi’s piercing eyes and looks down. Xavi sighs.

“Leo, listen,” he starts over. “Have you seen yourself lately? You look fucking haunted. And I know you’ve been staying late after practice. Pep knows too. We just thought we could trust you with knowing your limit.”

“I do know my limit,” Leo replies. “I haven’t reached it yet and I need to, I want us to win. I know I can do better.”

“I don’t mean football, Leo.”

Leo’s eyes shoot up. Xavi has unfolded his arms, but the expression in his face is still worried and concerned and it makes Leo feel guilty.

“I think sometimes you forget that you’re not only a footballer. I know you want to think that’s enough, but it’s not. You’re a person first. And you’re great. And do you know what I think?”

Leo shakes his head.

“I think something has happened that’s thrown you off balance. I think you’re scared that whatever this is will take your focus away from football and you don’t know how to balance that.”

He can only stare as Xavi’s eyes seem to peel away every layer that surrounds his soul and Leo feels strangely open and exposed and Xavi is right. He is scared. He’s so bloody scared of everything suddenly that he doesn’t know if he’s shaking from cold or shock.

“You can’t keep bottling everything up inside of you, you know?” Xavi continues and Leo feels a lump rising in his throat. “You need to let it out. I don’t know what you’re so scared of or why you feel so bloody guilty, but it’s eating you alive. And I won’t watch that happen, understand?”  
He pauses, then reaches out and fondly brushes some wet strands of hair off Leo’s forehead. “You need to talk to someone. And I don’t mind if you don’t want to talk to me, but talk to someone. Javier, Cesc, Dani. Pep.”

Leo chews on his lip. Maybe Xavi is right, maybe talking would help. But it doesn’t just concern him, he’d be dragging David into this too and Leo can’t – 

He can’t put David’s family in line.

“I can’t,” he mumbles but Xavi hears him anyway. “It’s not –“ and he sighs. “It’s not just about me. It’s – it’s complicated.”

Xavi’s eyes widen for the shortest of moments, then they’re focused on him again and Leo tries to swallow. The lump stays put.

“Okay,” Xavi says. “I know you like to put all the weight on your shoulders, Leo, but maybe this is the time to be a little selfish. And if you decide to tell me anything, anything at all – you know it’ll stay between us.”

Leo hesitates, quickly weighing his options in his head. Xavi knows him well; he knows David well too. And if Leo’s honest, he would trust Xavi with his life and more. But thinking of telling him and saying it is a big difference and Leo doesn’t know how to put the last one and a half years into a simple sentence.

“I-,” he starts and clears his throat. Leo’s heart is racing and he thinks it might be about to break through his ribcage. “It’s David.”

Xavi furrows his eyebrows. “What about David?”

Of course Xavi can’t get anything from that. Leo takes a deep breath. He thinks he might be about to choke on his own frantically beating heart.

“I’m sleeping with him.”

The relief is instant, but the tension gets an immediate hold of his chest again when he looks at Xavi. The midfielder’s eyebrows rise up.

“You’re sleeping with – oh.” He trails off and then, suddenly, realization hits him. “Oh! Ehm, okay. Okay.”

Xavi is probably taking it better than anyone could. He takes a moment and runs his hands over his face, clears his throat and then composes himself again. He looks at Leo with tinged cheeks.

“Okay,” Xavi repeats again and breathes. “Okay. Sorry. That – I wasn’t expecting that. But okay. Lets – figure this out, I guess.” He pauses and studies Leo, who just wants the earth to swallow him whole right now. “You don’t need to go into specifics, but – how long has this been going on for?”

Leo kneads his hands. “Um… I don’t really know. It depends. Maybe a year. Maybe more, maybe less.”

“Holy fuck. How did this happen?”

“I don’t know.” Leo has asked himself the same question plenty of times. “I wish I did. Then I could just stop it. But I can’t. And I’ve tried Xavi, I’ve really tried, but I just – I just – “

His eyes are burning and he has to stop in mid-sentence. Leo doesn’t want to burst into tears. He’s enough of a mess already.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Leo can only nod and buries his face in his hands, palms pressing against his eyes to stop the water from flowing. 

“You have no idea how many things suddenly make sense,” Xavi says more to himself than to Leo. “What about David?”

“I don’t know.” Leo’s voice is trembling. “Sometimes I think, but then – and I want David to – but his family and – I’m a horrible person, aren’t I?”

He feels Xavi wrap his arms around him. “No, Leo. You’re not. You’re falling to pieces because of this and you’re probably blaming yourself for everything. And the situation is complicated as hell, but – “ and he places his hands on Leo’s cheeks. “You can’t go on like this. It might work out for a while, but… It’s like trying to breathe underwater. You might be able to hold your breath for a while, but eventually, you’ll drown.”

“I know. But I don’t know how to stop.”

“Well,” Xavi says. “That’s not only your responsibility. You have to talk to David. He’s the one leading the double life and he can’t put both you and his family through this.”

Leo nods and wraps his towel tighter around his still trembling body. He feels oddly relieved, but also incredibly anxious. He doesn’t want to lose David. But he knows he will. 

 

*

 

Before Leo can even enter the dressing room the next morning, Pep stops him. He wants to see him in his office. His heart drops as he can already imagine what this is going to be about and maybe even more and he throws a quick look at Xavi, who is just getting changed. Then he shakes his head at himself; Xavi wouldn’t have told. 

“I don’t want you to train today,” Pep says as soon as the door falls shut and Leo has sat down in front on him.

Leo feels like he’s been punched in the face, although he probably should’ve expected that. Like Xavi said, their coach notices everything. Leo just wonders what everything means in his case.

“Okay,” Leo says and lowers his head because he knows better than to argue with Pep. “Should I – I don’t know, go to the gym, work with Emili?”

Pep shakes his head. “No, Leo. I want you to go home and finally get some rest. You’ve overworked you body and it needs to rejuvenate, but even more your mind. I’ve told you many times that you need to let go once in a while. I want you to be happy with what you do, okay? Whatever it is.”

“Okay,” Leo says again and he knows it’s going to be difficult for him to loosen up, but he has to give it a go. He wants to be in it for the long run and not suddenly collapse in a year and not being able to play at all anymore.

“Good,” and Pep smiles. “And you know that I am behind you, right? We all are. No matter what, you can always talk to me.”

Leo can only nod stiffly and he thinks that Pep really does seem to know absolutely everything about what happens at Barcelona. When he has his hand on the door handle, Pep raises his voice one more time.

“And David too.”

Yes, Leo thinks as he closes the door with a weird feeling in his gut, Pep knows everything.

 

Leo does as Pep says. He goes home and his empty house doesn’t feel taunting anymore, not as much and he sits on the couch, eats an entire tub of ice-cream, watches some crap on TV and takes a nap. Leo decides to tidy up a bit in the afternoon, because he can think better when he is moving and when he stumbles upon a family photo album, he can’t help but skim through the pages. And Leo wants that, this family life, maybe not an exact copy, but something like it. He wants it with David and knows he won’t get it.  
And he can’t take it away from David.

 

*

 

He decides to cross the t’s and dot the i’s the next day at practice, because Leo knows it’s the one place where neither of them can run away, where he can just sit down and say the things he wants to say. So Leo does exactly that.

David looks at him questioningly when Leo flops down next to him. He starts to pull at the grass to calm his nerves a little, because having David close to him makes it difficult for Leo to think. But eventually he just goes for it; face forward, no regrets, like on the pitch, alone in front of the goal.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he says without looking up. “I don’t think this situation is good for anyone and I shouldn’t have put you in it. I’m sorry.”

“Leo, I-“ David starts but Leo cuts him off immediately. He needs to finish.

“No, I am. You should be with your family – and only them. And I should’ve never interfered, so… I’m taking this decision away from you.” He pulls more grass out of the ground and watches it drop again and lowers his voice when he continues, taking a deep breath. “I love you. But – you should love your family.”

Before David can react in any way, Leo gets up and jogs across the pitch to join Cesc and Pedro.

 

*

 

Leo is surprised when he dreams again. He’s still in the tank, floating in water, but there’s sun shining above him and the lid is gone. He looks up and reaches out, ready to break through the surface.

 

*

 

“I’m not an idiot you know,” Gerard suddenly tells him.

They’re two weeks away from the Champions League final and it’s their afternoon session. The sun is shining bright, warming Leo’s skin and it’s nice, because at the moment he can’t feel a lot. Not seeing David is proving to be even more difficult than he had anticipated.

“What?”

Gerard kicks off his shoes and leans back on his hands. “I told you, I’m sharp as a knife. And you should’ve believed me.”

Leo still doesn’t get it. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Gerard punches him playfully in the arm. “About you, you little fucker. Remember when I beat up that player that almost chopped off your leg?”

Leo winces at the memory. He does remember, but he still doesn’t know what Gerard is getting at. “Yeah, I do. How long did you get suspended for?”

“I think it was four games,” Gerard laughs. “Was worth it though.” 

He pauses and studies Leo and he thinks that Gerard suddenly looks at lot more serious than he’s seen him in a very long time. 

“It’s not nice seeing you like this.”

Leo’s throat goes dry. “Like what?”

“Come one,” Gerard says. “You know. Just… unhappy. You can fool Cesc, because that fucking English mist is still fogging his brain. But I can see through you, my little friend. And I could totally lynch Villa and make it look like an accident.”

He thinks his jaw actually drops down to his chest and Leo just stares and stares until, “What the fuck, Piqué?” He splutters. “How the hell – What do you even – How did you –“ 

But he never gets a proper sentence out and Gerard is almost laughing his face off. Leo doesn’t know what the fuck is just happening.

“Calm down, Leo. Christ. You sound like I’d sell the entire story to Marca or something.” He gets up, towering over Leo. “But like I told you. I see things. And when you’ve made up your mind whether you want Villa out of the picture or not, you know where to find me.”

 

*

 

Leo tries to cope, he tries to move on, as they say, but it’s incredibly hard and a big part of him is convinced that he’s not going to get over David. So he’ll just have to learn how to deal with his feelings and with seeing David every day, not allowed to touch him and look at him like he used to. It’s also difficult, because David keeps looking at him from across the pitch, across the dressing room. Leo often sees him talking to Xavi, deep in conversation and he can never help but wonder what it is they’re talking about.

Leo tries to get his life back on track and he has good and bad days. 

On the good days he gets up early to practice his free-kicks before their official training starts, during which he jokes around with Dani or Thiago and in the evening he has dinner with Cesc and Gerard and sometimes Puyi too and when he gets home he is too tired to do anything but sleep.

The bad days show a certain complexity and vary from simple, nauseating headaches over tiredness and lack of concentration to utter catastrophe. When the worst happens, Leo can feel the roof of his house pressing down on him and that heavy pressure only stops when he lies in bed, holding David’s old shirt close to his chest and breathing in his smell. 

 

*

 

“How are you keeping up, Leo?”

Leo looks towards Xavi, eyes squinting as the sun shines directly into them. Out of habit, he wants to say the he’s fine, he’s doing okay, but then he hesitates and thinks that it’s really time to be honest.

“Could be worse,” he answers, because it could be. He’s still playing football and they’re going to the Champions League after just winning La Liga again. Leo still misses David so much that it hurts, but he’s getting used to the pain.

“But could also be better, right?” Xavi sits down next to him. “You made the right decision and I know that’s never easy, but –“ He tilts his head and looks into a certain direction, but Leo has no idea what’s Xavi’s looking at, sun still half-blinding his eyes. “The right decision usually gets you on the right path.”

Leo takes his words in, but he doesn’t quite know what he thinks of them. He isn’t even sure if there is right or wrong.

“Everything you say has to be cryptic, huh?”

Xavi turns his head to face him again. “It’s not. You’ll see.”

 

*

 

Leo tries to distract himself from the hole in his chest. Sometimes he still wakes up at night and has to press his palm to his ribcage because the feeling gets so strong, but there is no physical sign of the gaping gorge that must be running right through his heart. Leo distractedly wonders if that would ever come up in an x-ray. 

The best distraction proves to be Cesc. He’s one of the easiest people to talk to and he really does have his head in the clouds sometimes, but that makes time with him that much more unstrained.

Leo is a little apprehensive toward Gerard when he joins them in whatever it is they’re doing, but the defender acts as if he never offered to basically push David in front of a bus for him. So Leo pretends it never happened too.

They both try to talk him into joining Twitter, convinced that there is nothing better than tweeting mocking pictures of each other and Puyi, but Leo thinks that’s the last thing he needs. He’s glad that the public knows hardly anything about his private life and especially now, he intends to keep it that way. 

 

*

 

“We’re travelling to Munich tomorrow,” Cesc says as they’re sprawled out on Leo’s couch. 

There’s a replay of the last weekend’s Premiere League matches on. Arsenal has won against West Brom, finishing fifth overall and considering their bad start to the season, Leo thinks that’s actually a good result. He thinks Cesc sees it that way too and Leo watches as his eyes light up a little when they’re showing the goals. 

“Yup,” he replies mumbling, chewing on the yoke of his t-shirt.

“Do you think we can break the curse?”

“I don’t believe in stuff like that,” he answers. “But I think we can win.”

“I think so too,” Cesc says. “Imagine that, beating Bayern on their home turf. You better get a hat-trick again. I want this trophy.”

Leo laughs. “Getting greedy already, huh? Five trophies and that’s still not enough?”

“Never enough,” Cesc grins and then glances to the side, because his phone is buzzing. Leo raises his eyebrows at him. “Piqué is bullying me again,” he sighs.

“What is he doing this time?”

Cesc shrugs, typing an answer with furrowed eyebrows. “I don’t know, some shit about me having to go see him now or I’m not a real friend.”

“Sounds like him,” Leo says. “But maybe it’s something important.”

“With that idiot?” Nevertheless, Cesc is grinning affectionately. “Never. Probably wants me to help him decide between two pairs of socks. Well,” he adds and gets up. “I should go anyway. Still haven’t packed.”

Leo walks Cesc to the door, his own suitcase already waiting in the hallway for tomorrow and Cesc is just putting on his shoes when the doorbell rings.

“If that’s Geri, I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Cesc says and nearly falls whilst slipping into his left sneaker. 

Leo’s smile dies on his lips when he opens the door. 

“David.”

Before the other striker can say anything or react in any other way, Cesc is next to Leo, grinning widely. “Guaje! What’s up? What are you doing here?”

David appears to be a little shell-shocked for maybe about one or two seconds. Leo sees the shift in his stance and the tension in his shoulders. Then his composure is back in place, but he still looks incredibly tired, Leo thinks. There are bags under his eyes and the fine lines on his forehead appear to be deeper. Leo hasn’t been this close to David since their talk and it still feels exhilarating. 

David clears his throat, hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. “I was hoping to talk to Leo, actually.”

“Of course, Leo, right,” Cesc laughs. “This is his house after all, eh?” 

He pats Leo on the back and Leo slumps forward a little. His heart is sinking, beating increasingly faster.

“Anyway,” Cesc continues. “I’m off before Piqué goes nuts without me. See you guys tomorrow, right?”

And then he’s gone and Leo’s alone with David, who suddenly looks nervous, maybe as nervous as Leo is feeling.

“Do you – do you want to come in?” he asks hesitantly and steps aside when David nods briefly.  
When David walks past him into the living room, Leo can smell his cologne and it sends shivers down his spine. The Premiere League is still sounding in the background, players in scarlet jersey running across a green pitch, but Leo is too tense and too consumed by David to reach out for the remote.

Leo wants to say I miss you; he wants to say I love you, but he doesn’t, because he’s made a decision and for David’s sake, and for his, he has to stick to it. So Leo stays quiet and watches David, whose eyes are studying the screen absentmindedly.

“I talked to Xavi,” David says eventually. Suarez has just scored for Liverpool and the crowd’s cheering sets a strange contrast to the atmosphere in Leo’s living room.

“Okay.” Leo doesn’t know what else to say. His head is empty and his heart is slamming against the curve of his ribcage.

“I talked to him a lot, actually. He shouted at me mostly. So did Piqué. Probably deserved it too.”

David tears his eyes away from the screen and focuses them on Leo, brutally honest and open and Leo thinks he’s going to drown in them.

“You never gave me time to answer,” he says.

Leo blinks. “What?”

Suddenly, David’s right in front of Leo, so close that he’d just have to stretch out his arm to finally touch him again. Leo doesn’t, and his body is trembling because of it. David is stunning from up close, dark eyes, even face. Leo wants him to back off and come closer.

David breathes, deep and calm but there’s a light tremor coming from his throat when he reaches out and brushes Leo’s cheek with his fingertips. An almost electric shock seizes through Leo’s body, air hitching somewhere in his chest.

“I’m sorry for putting you through this,” David continues softly, Scouser fans still chanting in the background. “I never meant to hurt you. Or anyone. I just – I couldn’t let go of you. And I still can’t let go.”

“David, what-“

“Please,” David interrupts him. “Let me just say this, okay? I think I spent two fucking seasons trying to forget you, trying to ignore what was happening. And it didn’t work. I’ve made plenty of wrong decisions and I’m sorry for many things. But not for this.”

“I don’t-,” Leo tries again, but David shakes his head and so he closes his lips.

“I won’t allow you to feel sorry for this either. And I won’t allow you to take this decision away from me. To be honest, I still don’t know what the fuck I’m doing or thinking, but,” he pauses, thumb slowly caressing Leo’s jaw, “I’m in love with you. And God knows I’ve screwed up and you have every right to hate me. I just needed to tell you.”

Leo can see everything that David’s just said in his eyes and it’s so much – it’s too much and he can’t and he doesn’t know and his head is buzzing, heart beating so fast that it hurts. He feels short of breath, blood rushing in his ears but it’s good and this – 

“I told Patricia too.”

This can’t be happening. “What?”

There’s a flash of pain in David’s eyes. “She was shocked. Of course. Who wouldn’t be? But she’s been great and – we’re going to figure things out.”

Leo’s eyes can’t focus anymore. His vision has gone blurry and he doesn’t know why. “What does that mean?”

“What do you want it to mean?”

Leo feels dizzy. He doesn’t know if the pain in his chest comes from happiness or from guilt. Maybe it’s both. He brushes past David in a trance and finally finds the remote to switch of that bloody TV. Then he sinks down onto the couch and runs his hand over his face.

“Do you want me to go?” There’s no allegation in David’s voice for the way Leo’s acting right now.

“No,” he answers, knowing that this is probably the only thing Leo knows for sure. “No. I never want you to go.” He sighs. “This is just a bit unexpected.”

“I know,” David says as he sits down next to him, both facing forward. “I just needed to tell you.”

“And I’m glad you did. But I – I can’t destroy a family.”

“You’re not.” He takes Leo’s hand and they turn to face each other. “You’re not. I made a choice. Now you have to make one.”

“I-“ Leo begins but he has no idea what to say. 

This is it. This is everything he’s more or less secretly wanted for the past year and longer and now it’s right in front of him and he just needs to take it. But Leo doesn’t know if he can – if he should. He wants it. And he wants David more than anything. But Leo’s no fool. He knows the possible consequences; what everything could entail.

“How is this going to work?” Leo asks and squeezes David’s hand tight, holding on.

“We can’t find out if we don’t try,” David answers, moving closer and Leo’s heart speeds up again, taking the choice away from him.

“Okay,” he says, David’s breath ghosting over his lips. “Okay.”

 

*

 

Leo can feel his fingertips breaking through the surface, sunlight scattering in the water and he kicks one more time, feels a hand taking his, pulling him out and he sees David’s face.

 

*

 

The tunnel is bustling. Leo can hear the crowd cheering and the Champions League anthem is blasting from every corner. The Bayern players are lined up next to them, looking over nervously, but Leo is calm. He knows what their team is capable of and he knows that they can win. 

He can feel his feet tingling, eager to run and dribble and score and he knows that no matter what happens, David is right there with him. 

Leo turns his head and smiles and David smiles right back and Leo thinks that it’s exactly like football. They might score, they might fall behind, but they’re them, just them and that’s all that matters.

When Leo feels the grass beneath his feet and David’s presence on the pitch, he isn’t scared of drowning anymore. And Leo runs and David runs too and they’re passing and spinning and conjuring; eyes wide, hearts open, breathing deep.

_The End._


End file.
